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A GIRL’S ORDEAL 

£>S3 

~ 7 o*') 



MRS. LUCY C/LILLIE 

v» 

Author of “Elinor Beldin,” “Esther’s Fortune,” 
“ The Squire’s Daughter,” Etc. 


•f 

» • 
■> * 




PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY T. COATES & CO. 

1897 

i . 


\V 



Copyright, 1897, by 
HENRY T. COATES & CO. 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

In the Garden, .... 


• 

• 

PAGE 

. 1 

II. 

A Bit of History, . . . 


• 

• 

. 

8 

III. 

The First Shadow, 


• 

• 

. 

12 

IV. 

“Comfort Her,” . • • 


• 


. 

14 

V. 

Mr. Martin Droy, . • • 


• 

• 

O 

17 

VI. 

The Situation is Explained, 


• 

• 

. 

20 

VII. 

Homeward Bound, 


• 

• 

. 

23 

VIII. 

“Friends or Foes ?” . 





25 

IX. 

Fenton, 





33 

X. 

Mr. Blount is Beminiscent, 


• 


• 

35 

XI. 

Mrs. Tom Colestoun, . 


• 

• 

. 

40 

XII. 

The Corbett Mansion is Viewed, 


• 

• 

. 

43 

XIII. 

An Initial Afternoon, . • 


• 

• 

. 

47 

XIV. 

A Coaching Party, 


• 


. 

50 

XV. 

Agnes Offers an Opinion, . 


• 


. 

52 

XVI. 

Mr. Droy Makes Himself Agreeable, 


• 

• 

• 

54 

XVII. 

Larry Asks a Question, 



• 

. 

58 

XVIII. 

“ I Hate the Word,” . 



• 

. 

64 

XIX. 

At Last, 





66 

XX. 

“ Do You F orgi ve Me ?” . 


• 


. 

68 

XXI. 

Mr. Droy is Reflective, 


• 

• 

. 

72 

XXII. 

“ You are Spending Your Own Money,” 


• 

• 

73 

XXIII. 

“It is All Gone — Lost !” . 


• 

• 

. 

76 

XXIV. 

G resham-in the-Pines, 


• 



81 

XXV. 

Mrs. Ord to the Rescue, 


• 



91 

XXVI. 

The Journey to Fernhills, . 




. 

99 

XXVII. 

Constance Begins Her Career, . 


• 


. 

107 

XXVIII. 

Constance Takes a Morning Walk, 


• 



110 

XXIX. 

A Model Kindergarten, 


• 


. 

113 

XXX. 

An Unexpected Meeting, . 




. 

118 

XXXI. 

Mr. Fenton Reviews the Position, 




. 

120 

XXXII. 

Helen Armitage, 




. 

124 


(iii) 


IV CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XXXIII. 

Installed, .... 



PAGE 

XXXIV. 

Gelston, .... 




XXXV. 

The Rector’s Family, 



. 141 

XXXVI. 

An Exchange of Opinions, 



. 144 

XXXVII. 

Letters, .... 



. 149 

XXXVIII. 

Commissions, 



. 152 

XXXIX. 

Mr. Cargill “ Interviews ” the Com 

panion, . 

. 155 

XL. 

An Unexpected Meeting, 



. 157 

XLI. 

A Surprise Party, 



. 163 

XLII. 

Garvery, .... 



. 166 

XLIII. 

Bertie, 



. 174 

XLIV. 

The Spell is Broken, 



. 176 

XLV. 

“The Little Rift,” 



. 180 

XLVI. 

An “Amende Honorable,” . 



. 183 

XLVII. 

Duty ! 



. 188 

XLVIII. 

“ I Am Sure I Can Trust You,” 



. 197 

XLIX. 

Mrs. Penwick is Alarmed, 



. 201 

L. 

Miss Brumage Tells Her Story, 



. 207 

LI. 

Larry Succumbs, . 



. 215 

LII. 

A Lover of Justice, 



. 219 

LIII. 

“The Power of Your Wealth,” 



. 22 L 

LIV. 

Miss Armitage Reviews the Past, 



. 226 

LV. 

A Committee Meeting, . 



. 233 

LVI. 

A House-Party, 



. 239 

LVII. 

“Is That All, Bertie?” . 



. 247 

LVIII. 

Mrs. Bruce Greer, 



. 252 

LIX. 

Carrie, 



. 255 

LX. 

Constance is Rebellious, 



. 261 

LXI. 

A “Noble Lord,” 



. 264 

LXII. 

“ The Evidence of Your Eyes,” 



. 268 

LXIII. 

On the Balcony, 



. 272 

LXIV. 

A Rainy Morning Party, 



. 277 

LXV. 

A Desperate Measure, . 



. 281 

LXVI. 

Fenton as “Guide, Philosopher a 

nd Friend,” 

. 287 

LX VII. 

Doubts and Perplexities, 



. 293 

LXVIII. 

Moseley’s, . . • 



. 298 

LXIX. 

The Jervises, 



. 304 

LXX. 

Rowena, .... 



. 307 

LXXI. 

The “ Rift ” Widens, . 



. 312 

LXXII. 

Mrs. Jervis’s Anxieties, 



. 317 

LXXIII. 

“I Believe in You,” 



. 320 

LXXIV. 

A Priestess of the People, 



. 325 


CONTENTS. 


V 


CHAPTER 

LXXV. 
LXXVI. 
LXXVII. 
LXXVIII. 
LXXIX. 
LXXX. 
LXXXI. 
LXXX 1 1. 
LXXXIII. 
LXXXIV. 
LXXXV. 
LXXXVI. 
LXXX VII. 
LXXX VIII. 
LXXXIX. 
XC. 
XCI. 
XCII. 
XCIII. 
XCIV. 

xcv. 


PAGE 

A Catastrophe, 331 

“Give Me the Eight !” 334 

Another “ Daybreak,” 343 

“ We Are Orphans,” 346 

Larry’s Letter, 350 

A General “ Bouleversement,” .... 353 


A Break, 356 

Carrie Tells Her Story, 360 

“ You Speak of Us as 1 These People’ !” . . 363 

A New Departure, 367 

Constance Goes Up Town, 370 

Droy Again* 373 

“ No Honest Man or Woman Could Do It,” . 377 

Conscience ! 386 

A Dying Summons, 387 

“ I Am Married !” 390 

“ Let There be no Delay,” 394 

Lord Greybury’s Fianc6, 400 

Larry Performs His Mission, .... 405 

“ From Out of the West,” 411 

Conclusion, 412 



















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A GIRL’S ORDEAL. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN THE GARDEN. 

Visitors to Amblesworth, Conn., were always shown its 
two features of interest — the market-place, where a well- 
known witch of Puritan days had been sacrificed to the 
fanaticism of the period, and, by way of striking contrast 
as well as local pride, Dr. Coleman’s garden, which was as 
charming an.enclosure of green and bloom as heart of man 
or eye of artist could desire. In view of his occupation, 
many discrepancies in the Doctor’s house were forgiven 
him by even the most conventional of Ambles worth’s “ first 
families,” who liked to call the Doctor’s indifference on cer- 
tain points merely one of his peculiarities. He was too 
important a local figure to be criticized ; too useful a towns- 
man not to be humored; and, after all, there was a distinct 
air of aristocracy, the anxious ones had to admit, not only 
about the good Doctor himself but about his dwelling. 

It was close upon the upper end of the main street, that 
end which merged at once into a country road and pre- 
sented an irregular up-and-down sort of front, the central 
part lower than the two wings. It was somewhat in need 
of paint and repair, but on the whole suggestive of much 
comfort within doors. The main hall, if shabby in cer- 
tain ways, had for a background through its wide and gen- 
erally open door the Doctor’s garden, upon which the lower 

1 (1) 


2 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


windows of the drawing and dining-rooms also opened. 
Let the most fastidious visitor but step out upon the Doc- 
tor’s lawn, some fine spring or summer morning, and all 
criticism of the house would be forgotten. Such a velvet 
turf! Such quaint old blossoms blending with the new — 
such hedgerows — such a delicious mingling of odors, box 
and sweet briar, violet and cinnamon ! Trees arched over- 
head down at the lower end, with invitations to rest and 
shade; to the sweetest lulling of tired senses or w r eary 
limbs in the wicker chairs ; while up and down between 
what were almost banks of green and flowering shrubs 
there were narrow walks, which very nearly justified the 
Doctor’s guest, Constance Reade, in calling that portion 
of the garden a “ pleasaunce.” 

The young Colemans had grown up amidst all this gar- 
den bloom as do other juveniles in a nursery. They could 
give you the name and pedigree, the times and seasons, of 
the “ meanest flower that blows.” The poet they knew most 
about was Wordsworth. They treasured the writings of 
Mr. Burroughs as classics. Out of a certain household-fund 
known as garden-money they subscribed for floricultural 
journals, and the county fair was next in importance to 
the State election. Fortunately, they had not the slightest 
tinge of that avarice which marks so many owners of a 
fine garden. It is true no careless hand ever “ pulled ” a 
blossom, but it was the Colemans’ delight to freely give 
away the flowers, and they brightened the dullest corners 
of the old house. They were heaped up generously in the 
East India bowls which Dr. Coleman’s great-grandfather 
had brought from Bombay, coloring the deep hall-win- 
dows and showing finely against the darkly-polished wood- 
work of the drawing-room. Roses, such as a town belle 
would have given a fancy price for, lavished their fragrance 
in rose season through the whole house. Tulips of rarest 
shadings added their peculiar charm to the rather sombre 
dining-room where four generations of Colemans had eaten 


IN THE GARDEN. 


3 


and drunk, with generous thought at all times for the 
stranger within their gates. 

The lavish feasting of olden times had been a tradition 
of the race. To have ever a welcome for friends was the 
law of the family. The only time for years that a servant 
had been dismissed was when, during the Doctor’s ab- 
sence, Joey Neal, the “ garden-boy,” as he was called, ne- 
glected the conservatory furnace, thereby causing some 
of the Doctor’s finest specimens to perish. Clare, the eld- 
est daughter, said wisely enough that Joey should have 
left in haste before her father’s return ; but he lingered too 
long, was not completely miserable or sufficiently abject 
over his shortcomings, and the Doctor’s voice could be 
heard away down Bolton Street fairly thundering his dis- 
missal. The very signature on the check paid Joey for 
wages and car-fare looked almost a caricature, while the 
hot-house “ patients ” were doctored and physicked as 
though their lives were mortal. 

In this garden, on a certain very fair April morning, the 
sole occupant was a girl of about nineteen, who was occu- 
pied as dexterously as any gardener in clipping something 
about the upper hedgerow. Her gown of dark-blue linen 
was fresh and clean; the leather gloves protecting her 
hands, if shabby, were neatly mended, and her garden 
hat was prettily trimmed with white mull and daisies. 
Evidently its wearer was not one of those curiously-con- 
stituted mortals who regard pleasing attire as inconsistent 
with any manual labor. She worked with an air of good- 
will which showed the employment congenial. The way 
in which she now and again raised her face to the spring 
sky, breathing in the sweetness of the morning, proved a 
kinship with nature and the Doctor’s hobby which made 
her a disciple after his own heart. Indeed, he had that 
very morning paid Constance Reade the highest eomplb 
merit he could bestow, when he declared she ought to 
make gardening a profession. Heart-burnings might have 


4 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


resulted, but that Constance was the adopted darling of 
all the household. She had lived with them six months, 
and although by no means a demonstrative person in fact, 
with a certain reserve of her own which held her otherwise 
light-hearted young nature somewhat in check, she had 
grown to feel in the Doctor’s family like one of them- 
selves. 

At present, while she clipped and trimmed away she was 
carrying on a fragmentary sort of conversation with some 
one at a window upstairs. 

“ Oh, what a sky!” she exclaimed; “ what a made-to- 
order day ! something too superb to be wasted ! Larry, 
you lazy boy, come down and talk about where we can 
walk this afternoon — come — ‘ Gleich , gleich , nicht wahr she 
added, gayly ; and, as the steps of the unseen could be heard 
along the hallway, Constance flung aside her garden hat, 
sitting down unceremoniously on the end of a wheel- 
barrow near at hand. 

She was tall and very pretty. Her nose had a dainty, 
inquisitive little arch to it ; her hair waved of itself in soft, 
childlike rings, with a touch of gold in its darkest tones 
where the sunlight rested on it. Her lips, in their perfect 
color, defied all hint of delicacy in the complexion. The 
smile she lazily bestowed upon Master Larry showed a 
very pretty dimple and the whitest of teeth ; while, although 
not in the strictest sense to be called beautiful, the young 
girl was one to attract attention such as a noted beauty 
might fail to do. Something peculiarly her own gave 
her face and figure an impelling charm. 

“ Bist du , what shall we say next? ’ demanded the girl, 
as Larry Coleman’s tall, broad-shouldered young figure 
and boyish, good-looking face appeared on the piazza. 
“ Come here, then, in plain English ; I know enough to 
‘ hear you,’ as the children say, a few sentences. Only 
mind, I must learn a little myself as compensation.” 

Larry’s ill-humor or despondency seemed to have van- 


IN TIIE GARDEN 


5 


ished with the first breath of the morning air, but equally, 
it would appear, his anxiety to go on with any study be- 
yond what the aspect of the garden and things in general 
might involve. He stood with his hands in his pockets, 
whistling a popular air half under his breath, gazing up 
at the sky and around him, while Constance, partaking of 
his idle mood, leaned against the back of the old wheel- 
barrow, swinging her pair of shears up and down in care- 
less accompaniment to “ Molly Bawn.” 

Whether Larry Coleman would ever distinguish him- 
self at either Greek or German was, at present, merely 
problematical; but that where strength of limb, firmness 
of muscle, honest, straightforward manliness was con- 
cerned he would come out a winner, could not be doubted. 
As he stood gazing down upon Constance he looked as 
though a ten-mile tramp on such a day would suit him 
far better than the garden. The sun that had given his 
companion that faint and becoming fringe of brown had 
tanned Larry’s clear skin to a very fine color. His eyes, 
if rather a light blue, had far more honesty in them than 
the color usually suggests. His hair, rebelliously curly in 
spite of much clipping, was, as Constance would scornfully 
observe, a “ sunburnt yellow and for the rest, his face, to 
continue the same young critic’s semi-satirical observation, 
“promised well.” 

“You may turn out fairly good-looking some of these 
days,” she had once observed, when pressed for an opinion 
as to how a certain necktie became him. 

Larry, at that time, was deeply smitten with the Presby- 
terian minister’s oldest daughter, who had since married 
and gone West. That idyllic period was already long gone 
by (in Master Larry’s calendar of time, three months) ; 
and if nobody had taken Miss Worthington’s place in his 
affections, she was certainly not enshrined therein. The 
question now uppermost was, what, from a practical point 
of view, was to become of him ? He had no ambition for 


6 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


a college career, down, as he put it, “ to its bitter end,” and 
the Doctor was averse to sending him forth into the world 
half-equipped for any battle not merely muscular. 

“ See here, Constance/ ’ exclaimed Larry, after a silence 
unusually long for either of them had been maintained, 
“ you have got a grain or two of sense ; why can’t you try 
and talk the governor over ? Why on earth should I be 
wasting time going to college ? I’ll be plucked as sure as 
you’re born. It’s a most absurd waste of time. See here : 
if that Brazilian affair of his turns out a burst bubble, 
then — ” 

u What ?” demanded Constance, anxiously. She was by 
no means without certain misgivings on the subject, based 
on the quick, intuitive faculty in her nature, where those 
she loved were concerned. The Doctor’s preoccupations 
of late had impressed her as more personal than scientific. 
Larry’s suggestion seemed to formulate her own ill-defined 
fears. 

“ He has put so much capital into it,” the lad went on, 
“ that if it goes to pieces, as, between you and me and this 
wheelbarrow I am afraid it will, I’d like to know where a 
college course for me would come in, and a fellow’ d hate 
to begin and then leave off ; and, Con,” there was a look of 
resolution in Larry’s blue eyes, his lips drew together with 
an expression which the girl readily understood, “ I don’t 
want to brag, but I know I have business brains in me ; if 
I do make a false quantity now and again it’s because my 
head is full of something better.” 

“ I know,” said Constance, with a decisive little nod; 
“ but would not that take money ?” 

“ Time and hard work,” returned the boy, with a shrug 
of his shoulders, “ and I am not afraid of that ; when there’s 
something in it, I am always hunting it up. 

“ There’s a fellow at the hotel who is the cutest, smartest 
civil engineer you ever saw, and he says — well, he advises 
me to get right away and into it ! I gave him,” — the lad 


IN TIIE GARDEN . 


7 


laughed a bit shamefacedly — “ a point or two out of my own 
head. Only that Clare might kick up a fuss, I’d have 
invited him up to the house. He — well, he isn’t all her 
fancy painted a gentleman to be ; but he made his own 
way, fought it out, too, went to Rio on a chance, and 
worked his way right up. Now he’s bossing this job for 
Shoreham & Wetherby. I tell you what it is, Con,” de- 
clared Larry, rising to his feet and once more looking down 
upon her girlish face with eyes that kindled and sparkled 
as he spoke, “ the governor’s going on the wrong racket 
with me this time, and I don’t want to make the fool of 
myself I’m sure to do unless he’ll give me a square try at 
engineering.” 

In the light of all this — to Con’s entirely sequestered 
imagination — remarkably broad and businesslike state- 
ment of affairs, as well as demonstration of talent, which 
should be allowed its fullest development, the girl could 
only look at her companion with an unqualified air of 
admiration and approval; and I may safely assert that 
Master Larry was not only highly pleased but quite cer- 
tain that he deserved all the endorsement her expression 
could suggest. With what further confidences he might 
have honored her, or how much more he would have de- 
manded of her well-known influence with his father, it is 
impossible to say, as the sudden appearance of the Doctor, 
evidently laboring under some unusual excitement, as he 
crossed the stable yard, brought the conversation to an 
abrupt conclusion. 

It was scarcely likely that Dr. Coleman had been dis- 
missing anybody else, or that anything unusual had been 
taking place in the house to his knowledge, since it was 
clear that he had just ridden home ; but the Doctor was a 
man who, filled to the brim with the most generous and 
guileless motives and beliefs, could not rest half an hour, 
when annoyed or excited, without some one to whom he 
could safely unburden his mind. Treachery or deceit w T ere 


8 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


abhorrent, impossible, to him. His professional sagacity 
and reputation were as dear as the honor of his house ; but 
his nerves always cool and steady, his brain always clear 
and calm, wffiere matters of his calling were involved, were 
frequently acted upon ashy an invasion of quicksilver where 
any wrongdoing connected with those whom he employed, 
or family troubles, were concerned. Both Larry and Con- 
stance knew in an instant that something had occurred, 
and prepared themselves either to listen or console, as the 
case might be. 

The Doctor was so seldom at a loss for words that as he 
came into the garden his dismayed sort of silence im- 
pressed both the young people with surprise ; but presently 
he said, in a nervous tone : 

“ Ah — Con, my dear — I — he — that is, there are visitors, 
I understand, expected — friends — ahem ! — of your father’s. 
I think you had better run in and ask Clare about it.” 


CHAPTER II. 

A BIT OF HISTORY. 

At the time my story opens it was a matter of five-and- 
twenty years since Mark Reade, a college chum of Dr. 
Coleman’s, had settled in the West — in what was then so 
decidedly the far West as to make a regular correspond- 
ence with friends in the East rather a difficult matter; 
moreover, both men had new interests and pursuits. 
Reade, a keenly wide-awake and ambitious young man, 
had laid plans before he took his leave of Yale which he 
proceeded at once to carry out; and, being born with a fac- 
ulty for driving a nail into the peculiar spot he selected, 
he invested his capital in a new section of the coun- 
try and saw it prosper. He aimed to build up a town, 


A BIT OF HISTORY. 


9 


which throve as he kept his shrewd, unflinching eye upon 
it. He had brought no careless habits to the region with 
him, and acquired so few that, in a place remarkable for its 
freedom from lawlessness, Mark Reade was* considered a 
very pattern of morality. But, like everything else in his 
conduct, it was morality of a strict business-like character. 
There was not the slightest tinge of affectation, deceit or 
; pose about it. To have deviated from a standard which 
precluded bad language, strong drink and general irrespect 
of social laws would have upset his entire system of 
things, as well as outraged the sort of fastidiousness of 
taste which Mark Reade never quite concealed, certainly 
never tried to overcome. In due time he had married, 
his choice proving his ability to indulge his fancy without 
thought of pecuniary or even social profit. 

His wife was certainly one of the prettiest girls in the 
region, with the additional charm of having been born and 
bred much further east ; in fact she had gone to Belchatel 
only six months previous, having reached there by slow 
stages— her father dying on their journey and leaving the 
girl to support herself, as best she might, as teacher in a 
small school which he was to have undertaken. The girl 
had scarcely grown accustomed to her scholars when Mr. 
Reade surprised her by his quiet but very decisive love- 
making, in which he mastered, with an effort, all outward 
signs of the upheaval in his own nature which had sug- 
gested such a step. It w T as one of those cases where, from 
a social point of view, refusal would have seemed a verit- 
able madness, and little Miss Lee had not the smallest rea- 
son for hesitation beyond the flutter inseparable from such 
a surprise, which was, indeed, almost a shock ! Strange 
as it may appear in a girl of twenty, she was without one 
event in her past to produce a tender or regretful memory 
when she consented to become Mark Reade’s wife. His 
would be the pleasing task of exploring the innocent 
depths of her heart; and if to have been so inexperienced 


10 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


proved the young girl lacking in sentiment, it certainly 
argues common sense and made matters easier. 

But so he allowed himself to love the quiet genius of his 
hearthstone with all the hidden treasures oflhis heart and 
soul. Whether, in time, the man’s complete surrender to 
this domestic captivity would have awakened higher intel- 
lectual and poetic forces in his wife’s nature it would be 
difficult to tell ; or, indeed, whether she considered his 
devotion from any sublunary point of view at all. It was 
apparently as acceptable and matter-of-course as had been 
everything else in her pleasantly-ordered existence, and 
Mrs. Reade’s devotion to the needs and good of her neigh- 
bors was what chiefly distinguished her as the wife of the 
most important man in Belchatel, if not in the entire 
county. The birth of his daughter, although producing a 
transient sense of disappointment in that he had not a 
son to rear as heir to all that he was and meant to be, 
proved a new stimulus, since it crowned the felicity of his 
home ; made his wife brighter and happier — fonder, it 
would seem, of her reserved and rather silent husband — 
and then like a thunderbolt from a cerulean sky came the 
ruin of his hopes. Almost without one warning symptom 
the girl — she was little more — sickened and died ! Reade 
had scarcely grasped the fact that she was ailing (he, ever 
jealously quick to note the smallest change in her color or 
falter in her voice or step), when she lay still and cold in 
his arms ! 

The man who had said he never knew in the darkest 
tunnel what it was to feel alone or helpless, declared vrithin 
himself that earth and sky alike were sable — pitiless, un- 
fathomable to his sight or grasp ! It was not in his nature 
to make a loud outcry. He bore his grief, as he had borne 
his unanswered passion, by redoubled efforts in his work; 
added nervous force to the energy with which he took up 
and led on new enterprises, giving to his child the most 
delicate surroundings the town could procure, and by his 


A BIT OF HISTORY. 


11 


constant companionship developing within her a certain 
likeness to himself which showed itself early in twenty 
different ways — amusing in a creature so tiny. Naturally 
the girl passed out of mere childhood at an early age ; yet, 
possibly from her father’s jealous care, although proving 
herself so practical and even daring, the simplicity of her 
nature was never marred; and at sixteen, “little Miss 
Reade,” as she was called, if tall for her age and highly 
accomplished in a variety of ways, among which out-of- 
door sports figured largely, was as guileless as she had 
been at seven; and, by virtue of her father’s wealth and 
ever-watchful eye, as protected personally from all that 
was socially questionable as ever Princess Royal or child 
of magnate in the most conventional of Eastern homes. 

A governess had been procured, with the highest creden- 
tials, from San Francisco, and who, in order to fulfil Mr. 
Reade’s demand, united various qualities and attainments, 
which accounted for the difficulty involved in her, so to 
speak, discovery. She was to be a middle-aged widow, of 
sufficient means not to be too eager for the “ place,” to be 
thoroughly grounded in modern languages and the clas- 
sics (this was a strong point with the Yale man of 186-), 
devoid of much sentimentality yet fond of current litera- 
ture, a good grammarian, and thoroughly versed in social 
savoir faire. Furthermore, the new “ investment,” for as 
such Mr. Reade regarded the governess, was to be of un- 
questionable social connection, traditions and character. 
For anybody but the young Princess of the house of Reade 
it might have seemed as though to demand so much in a 
“hireling,” no matter what the capacity, was ridiculous ; 
but no one in Belchatel considered it extraordinary either 
that Mr. Reade made so many exactions or carried his 
point. Like everything else connected with Reade’s en- 
terprises, the lady proved a complete success. 

Constance showed little appreciation of the “ologies;” 
her love of history was keen, but she objected to details; 


12 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


especially to Mrs. Ord’s long disquisitions upon certain 
sovereigns of the past, uttered as though the governess had 
known, studied and criticized them all in person. At 
last Mrs. Ord, conscientiously trying to discover a science 
which would do her pupil credit, discovered by the merest 
chance that Constance had both an instinct and a love for 
the growing things of nature. From that day, for Con- 
stance, life held its mystic daily charm. The meaning and 
the secret of every nook and bend of the country were her 
own. No day seemed too long that held its hours of work 
in the forest or the garden, and the girl grew and throve 
under her father’s eye, repressing much, no doubt, that 
would have added to her fuller development, yet in all 
ways pleasing him. Twenty times a day he told himself 
— with secret exultation that of all his successes his 
daughter — his “ heiress apparent” — was the most com- 
plete. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FIRST SHADOW. 

It was when Constance was nearing her eighteenth 
birthday that the first dim speck upon her father’s cloud- 
less 'horizon made itself seen and felt. Hitherto he had 
been singularly free from the reverses which, as w T e all 
know, constitute a very active part in the career of our 
railroad and mining kings. He had always shown admi- 
rable foresight — had never, so to speak, played a losing 
game, so that the sudden collapse of a company to which 
he had absolutely given its right to be, was a stunning blow. 
Reade had never known what it was to have to pick him- 
self up on trembling legs. Perhaps his health was not of 
the best, his nerves not quite as steady as when he rode 
his three hundred miles across country with the deposits 


THE FIBST SHADOW . 


13 


of a bank for safe keeping and the fortunes of five men in 
his breast and belt. At all events, on this occasion he 
confronted his losses with a nerveless spirit. As a conse- 
quence, others followed quickly, shattering his health, so 
that before her eighteenth year was ended Constance had 
to realize that her father was almost a ruined man. Even 
then he pulled himself together, and tried more for the 
girl’s sake than for his own to rally every force and start 
anew ; but the best that could be done involved separa- 
tion — a chance offered whereby Reade, as secretary of a 
new company just forming, could go up the coast; and if he 
could safely dispose of his only treasure on earth he would 
not be the man to lose the opportunity. But Reade 
shrank painfully from leaving his “ Princess Royal ” to the 
care of any one in Relchatel, and as though the five-and- 
twenty years had been but as many moons dividing the 
present from the past, he thought of his old college chum 
— his friend, Dr. Coleman — and all the pent-up feelings 
of this new crisis found their way into the letter he dis- 
patched to the Doctor at Amblesworth. Could he for a 
time intrust his daughter to the Colemans’ care? Would 
the Doctor look after her awhile until he made his fortune 
anew? and so on, and so on — references to old times long 
since half-forgotten cropping up as every sentence was 
completed. 

There was but one possible answer, as may be imagined, 
in the honest Doctor’s household. It mattered nothing 
what manner of creature this unknown young Westerner 
might be— she was “ Mark’s girl.” That sufficed; and so 
as warm a letter of invitation as could be written was 
dispatched by the Doctor, who in his secret heart was full 
of misgivings as to what it would mean to have a girl from 
Belchatel invade his dwelling. 

Such had been the outline of Constance Reade’s his- 
tory up to the time when, one October day, Mrs. Ord, who 
had intended coming East, concluded her final contract, 


14 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


fulfilled her last duty, by delivering her charge into the 
Doctor’s keeping. 

All of this had taken place six months ago, during 
which time Constance had drifted, as we have seen, into 
the place wherein the first pages of my story have intro- 
duced her. No failure had there been in letters from her 
father, nor in sundry small remittances, until the last few 
weeks ; but, as she was well aware, his business had not 
been so prosperous as he had hoped. That, however, was 
a matter which in the career of a speculator might alter 
magically within twenty-four hours, and suggested nothing 
even remotely tragic. If there had been any thing which 
disturbed her it was an occasional reference to some people 
she remembered very slightly, but not at all pleasantly, 
and whom her father seemed to have grown friendly with 
of late. The Hendersons had been considered new-comers 
in the Belchatel region, but they certainly had contrived 
to absorb in a very short space of time all the most florid 
attributes of the country. Con had met them (she would 
have said seen them) only twice. How they came to be 
her father’s associates at present puzzled her, but she con- 
cluded that it was all in the way of “ business ’’—certainly 
nothing with which she had anything to do. She had 
only wondered why, in his too brief letters, he had wasted 
time mentioning them at all. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“comport he r.” 

“Friends of my father?” said Constance, in some 
wonderment. 

The Doctor, poor man, looked, as he felt, utterly miser- 
able. Questioning, however, in his own mind whether 


COMFORT 1IER .” 


15 


in the end the news was to be considered bad, he smiled, 
shook his head rather weakly, and sat down in the middle 
of the garden bench. 

Constance began to feel a little more courageous. Doc- 
tor Coleman’s face was — except professionally — the most 
transparent index of his feelings, and she took “ heart 
of grace ” now from his expression. 

“ Why, you see,” he began, and then broke off. 

“ My dear,” he added, suddenly, “ I wish — if you don’t 
mind — you would — well — go in to Clare ! Really I do !” 

“ But what is there for Clare to tell me that you cannot, 
Doctor Coleman?” exclaimed the girl. She glanced at the 
letters in his hand. “Are they for me, Doctor?” she added. 

“ Well, one of them is,” admitted the Doctor, reluctantly. 
“ It came enclosed to me. There ! Well, if you must , my 
dear child, read it.” And, thrusting the open sheet into 
her hand, the Doctor rose, nodded to Larry to follow him, 
and walked slowly, almost silently, into the house. 

To her dying day Constance could recall every trivial 
impression, every detail of that moment. Where she sat 
the breath of sweet-briar and mignonette, of honeysuckle 
and verbena, came from the open hot-house doors. The 
pathway at her feet was strewn with the last of her clip- 
pings ; the April sun rose high and fair in a cloudless sky. 
Across the lawn and bit of road in view the trees swayed 
lightly with their first faint traceries of green and the pink 
hue of the oak. The dining and drawing-room windows 
were open ; from the kitchen side of the house came the 
clatter of Julia’s pots and pans, mingled with the cheery 
sound of her latest ballad. How homelike ! how sheltered ! 
how free from all that mars and spoils one’s happy hours 
of home content it seemed ! 

“ My little daughter,” wrote her father, “ I have taken 
a step which I believe to be for your future good as well 
as mine. I will not delay in coming to the point, but let 
you know that I have married the widow of Mr. Samuel 


16 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Henderson, with whom I have been boarding lately, and 
whose business interests are closely connected with mine. 

“ I could not notify you in advance, as we were no 
sooner engaged than affairs East demanded Mrs. Hender- 
son’s presence, and so the ceremony took place at once. 
She is prepared to meet you as a daughter, and you, I am 
sure, will do what lies in your power to make our home 
happy. I am obliged to remain here for a few weeks 
longer, but my wife will be in New York when you re- 
ceive this letter and communicate promptly with you. 

“ Write to me at once. Your loving father, 

“ Mark Reade. 

“ P. S. — I should have mentioned Mrs. Henderson’s 
daughter — a girl of about your own age.” 

Constance read and re-read the cruel words, but so ab- 
sorbed was she in the main fact they conveyed that she 
failed to note what a stranger would at olice have de- 
tected — the lack of all sentiment, be} r ond what business 
involved, in her father’s method of announcement. Not 
a hint, not even a veiled allusion, was there suggesting 
that any motive but expediency had prompted this sud- 
den wooing ! The chill of the letter impressed her at once. 
She was so thoroughly unused to it that now it seemed as 
though it must be personal ! Had he so soon forgotten 
the tenderness of their relationship ? — a tenderness beyond 
that of most parents and child? “ Write to me at once” 

Her eyes wandered back to these words as she rose me- 
chanically to go into the house, but this command Con- 
stance knew she could not — now , at least — obey. 

A barrier had arisen between her father and herself 
and their mutual freedom of expression. She could not 
try at once to break it down. 

The Doctor had done wisely in bidding Constance in 
her trouble to go at once to his daughter Clare, who, truth 
to tell, was waiting for her, scarcely less perturbed than 
the girl herself. 


MR. MARTIN DROY. 


17 


People looking at Clare Coleman were at first inclined 
to consider her rather negative, but this was due chiefly 
to her very well-balanced and unobtrusive qualities. She 
was tall enough to be womanly, without — as Larry put it 
—seeming “ commanding.” Her expression was rather 
that of sweetness than strength, but her common sense was 
like a very gift of the gods. She was indeed “ negative ” 
in coloring; fair, like Larry, with plentiful, always neatly- 
curled brown hair— eyes of an honest gray —a mouth very 
sweet in its curves, its expression always kindly, like the 
tones of her voice ; and only her chin in its line, firm 
lines, betrayed the real force of her character. An in- 
stance of her influence was in the Doctor’s ready sugges- 
tion that Constance in her trouble should appeal to Clare ; 
equally, Con’s following his advice at once. “ Comfort her /” 
the Doctor had bidden Clare. 

Well he knew how the gentle daughter of his house 
and heart could do it. 


CHAPTER V. 

MR. MARTIN DROY. 

“ Yes,’’ Con was saying, a little later, to Clare; “I re- 
member these people — the Hendersons — though not very 
well ; to tell you the truth, I never dreamed of consider- 
ing them our — equals.” 

She and Clare had by this time withdrawn to the latter’s 
room upstairs for a talk where they would be free from 
interruption. 

“After all,” Con admitted, “ it may be just jealousy — that 
I feel the natural dislike we have to see any one — take 
our place — Papa — never yet did anything foolish,” she 
added, with a sigh. “ I wonder when she means to arrive? 
The letter says in New York now. Oh, dear!” 

2 


18 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Con’s tone hardly justified the philosophy of her remarks, 
and she rested her head rather dejectedly in her hands. 

“ Well — oh — Clare, who is that? I feel nervous over 
every sound I hear.” 

The gate had opened ; from beneath the window in 
which the girls sat talking there came the sound of a 
man’s footstep ; then a very energetic lifting and “ rat- 
tat-tat ” of the knocker. 

Susan, the housemaid, appeared. 

“ Well, Susan,” she said quietly, “ surely dinner is not 
ready?” 

“ Oh no, Miss — it’s a gentleman— for Miss Constance — 
here, Miss,” and she produced a card on which, in very 
prominent type, was engraved 

“ Mr. Martin Droy.” 

“ Master says,” continued Susan, “ will you both please 
come-down at once.” 

That Mr. Martin Droy, whoever he might be, was in 
some way connected with her father’s letter Con never 
doubted for an instant, and as Susan departed she glanced 
at her companion with a slight smile. 

“ From them, I suppose,” she said, half bitterly. “ I may 
as well get it over. Come, Clare, such an important mes- 
senger ought not to be kept waiting !” 

“ Con — dear Constance,” pleaded Clare at the door, “ I 
beg of you, try for all concerned not to seem so repellent! 
Remember what first impressions mean ! No matter what 
you feel, to show your dislike of this affair will not help 
any one.” 

Constance listened. Nevertheless, no one seeing her, 
as she entered the room and acknowledged Dr. Cole- 
man’s introduction to their guest, would have considered 
her the same light-hearted girl who but a few hours before 
had made merry with Larry in the garden and declared 
herself so blithely in “tune” with spring-time and the 
sunshine of the morning. 


MR. MARTIN DROY. 


19 


A tall, self-possessed, gentlemanly-looking man* of -per- 
haps twenty-seven or twenty-eight acknowledged her salu- 
tation by a mere touch of her fingers and a grave in- 
spection of her pale young face. He had a quickness of 
manner in drawing forward a chair, an ease of his own, 
either Western or cosmopolitan ; and, whatever might be 
the sentiments of the rest of the party, it was clear that he 
was in no degree reserved or sensitive to the slight chill 
which was noticeable even in the Doctor’s manner. 

i( Of course, I’m quite a stranger to you, Miss Reade,” 
he observed with a pleasant smile. “ But I hope that won’t 
last long, as I must be your escort to New York. Your — 
Mrs. Reade found it impossible to come for you herself, 
and so sent me. I’m attending to considerable of your 
father’s business here East,” he continued, Constance 
faintly smiling in default of words which would not in 
some way force themselves to be spoken, “ and so Mrs. 
Reade thought I’d be the next best person to fetch you.’’ 

He glanced at his watch, and then at the Doctor. 

“We ought to take as early a train as possible,” he con- 
tinued. “It is 1 o’clock now — how will 3.30 suit you? 
That’ll bring us in nicely for 6 o’clock.” 

Every word had but increased the sense of powerless- 
ness in this crisis which poor Constance felt. It was as 
though all of the happy half year past had been but a 
dream from which this voluble stranger was awakening 
her to realities for which she had no precedent — against 
which, no weapons of defence. And the Doctor and Clare 
looked equally disconcerted. The latter finally found voice 
to say “ Is not this very sudden ? — Miss Reade could scarcely 
make ready quite so soon;” whereupon Mr. Droy smiled 
sagaciously, observing he’d thought that out. 

“ Any little hand-bag will do for the present,” he said, 
lightly. “ It is imperative for me to get back, and cannot 
the rest of her luggage come on later?” 

A few more words of discussion ensued, cut short, how- 


20 


A GIBUS OBDEAL . 


ever, by Constance rousing herself to the main point at 
issue, which was that this gentleman, being her father’s 
messenger, must of course have his own way ; and then 
leaving him once more to the Doctor’s consideration, but 
with a heart weighted as though with lead, the girl fol- 
lowed Clare from the room. 

“ Clare! Clare!” she exclaimed, passionately, as they 
regained the upper landing, and stretching out her hands 
with a tremulous movement to her friend, u what can I 
do? Oh, papa has not thought of me in this ! I would not 
have needed anything he could not give me ! Why w r as 
he not wdlling to let me share even poverty alone with 
him?” 

Poor Clare could say nothing. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE SITUATION IS EXPLAINED. 

As it turned out that Mr. Droy had already lunched, as 
he called the very substantial meal of w’hich he had par- 
taken at the Amblesworth Hotel, there was an hour or 
tw r o on his hands, and time w r as something never wasted 
by him, especially in a new place. Having expressed a 
desire to inspect the new railroad works in progress, Larry 
was deputed to act as guide, Larry’s keen interest in the 
subject of the tunnelling overcoming his aversion to any 
visitor who deprived them so ruthlessly of their beloved 
guest. But Mr. Droy proved himself, in spite of occasional 
fits of abstraction, excellent company; moreover, he vol- 
unteered for Larry’s benefit a fuller explanation of the 
reason for his coming than he had vouchsafed Constance 
herself. 

“ You see,” he observed, as they lingered crossing the 


THE SITUATION IS EXPLAINED. 


21 


fine old market-place, upon which, with its town cross, he 
bestowed the indifferent attention of a man to whom the 
Sierras look rather young, and a “ city ” in its first decade 
decidedly “ old,” “ I’m a sort of connection of the present 
Mr. Reade’s, although I didn’t tell the girl so, as I don’t 
doubt she’s rather cut up over her father’s marriage at best 
— but it’s well for her that I came, as I’ll smooth things 
down, now that I’ve seen her, and make it pleasanter. It 
was really viy fault Mr. Reade stayed behind. You see 
I’ve a good deal of knowledge of the world, and I fancied 
the journey would be pleasanter as I’ve fixed it. Give her 
time to think, you see — and pull herself together — and 
maybe I can put in a word here and there of good advice. 
I hadn’t any idea she was quite so, so — ” He paused and 
smiled in his shrewd fashion, holding out the palms of his 
hands as he glanced at Larry for a suitable definition of 
what had surprised him in Constance— “ so — well — top 
lofty,” he concluded, driven to his own vocabulary. “I 
declare she looked at me out of those stunning eyes of 
hers as though I wasn’t worth the glance.” 

“ Oh, Con’s all right,” said Larry, half angrily. He ob- 
jected to discussing her in this fashion ; but Mr. Droy pur- 
sued the theme with new interest. 

“That’s just it!” he assented quickly. “She’s not the 
sort of girl you’d dare question or attempt to set right for 
an instant, but is she always so — well — distant?” 

“ Usually,” said Larry, briefly, but with his own reasons 
for the statement. He was very sure Con would seldom 
be otherwise with this friend of her father’s. “ And you 
see, Mr. Droy,” he added, half apologetically, “ it is hard 
on Con — Miss Reade. Of course her father had a right to 
do as he pleased and suit himself in a wife, but at least 
he might have taken her into his confidence.” 

Droy laughed— a low, not unpleasant laugh in itself — and 
rested one of his strong brown hands on Larry’s shoulder. 

“ Why, that wasn’t in the program,” he said, still chuck- 


22 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


ling. “ You see, Mrs. Henderson — if she is a relative — I 
must admit it, is not the sort of woman to delay any 
transaction. An engagement with her simply meant mar- 
riage; Reade knew that, or he ought to have known it. 
Then within twenty-four hours came news that she had 
this Eastern property to attend to, or lose it. I had come 
on eight months ago to look after it, and it was my telegram 
that brought her. By the way, did you ever hear Miss 
Constance speak of the daughter, Genevieve Henderson ?” 

“ No,” said Larry, “ I never heard her mention any of 
them, one way or another. I didn’t suppose she knew 
them.” 

“ Oh, she’s seen them,” said Mr. Droy, cheerfully; “ I won- 
der if she had that same high-tragedy manner then? I’m 
afraid it’ll be Greek and Greek, if we’re not careful, between 
the two. Gen’s the youngest, I fancy. Let’s see — how 
old’s this girl?” 

Larry frowned. 

“ Miss Reade is nearly nineteen, I believe,” he remarked, 
coldly. 

“ Oh, well, so is Gen, and a bit more, maybe,” said the 
other, upon whom Larry’s careful formality of speech was 
altogether lost ; “ she doesn’t look it, though ; that is some- 
times, when she’s well dressed, you know, and by gas-light. 
I ivonder” he added reflectively, “ how on earth they’ll hit 
it off.” 

As this was a subject upon which Larry was totally un- 
prepared to offer any opinion ; moreover, as he was really 
anxious to discuss engineering matters with his compan- 
ion, he turned the question aside and urged the conversa- 
tion into other channels ; yet he could not feel, as, an hour 
or so later, he and Clare and his father — all of the family 
at home — were bidding Con good-bye at the station, that 
he had, from the talk with Mr. Droy, formed a very cheer- 
ful impression of the circle into wdiich his “ comrade ” was 
going. How would she endure a step-mother who had 


HOMEWARD ROUND. 


23 


been so very prompt in sealing her engagement to Mr. 
Beade? or the companionship of a girl who looked well 
according to dress and gas-light? Con’s face, like her 
character, came out best with the clearest search-light of 
sun upon it. As Mr. Droy suggested, might it not be a 
case of “ Greek meeting Greek ?” 

“ Well, it’s good-bye. I’m afraid,” sighed the Doctor as 
they strolled homeward, all more or less disheartened by 
the leave-taking, “ and I can’t help feeling, somehow, that 
Mark Reade has made a fool of himself this time, and it’s 
Con, poor girl, that may be the sufferer.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

HOMEWARD BOUND. 

After the first half hour of their journey Mr. Droy 
abandoned his efforts to be merety entertaining to his com- 
panion, who apologized very gently for her stupidity, 
pleading as excuse the time-worn but always popular one 
of a “headache,” and so found the time pass less heavily 
when he tried, as he called it, the “ instructive.” To be 
silent seemed not according to his idea of what was becom- 
ing in an escort, and he was pleased to find Con really in- 
terested in his observations on the country. This intelli- 
gence was by no means worthy of her scorn. Indeed, to 
do the poor girl justice, the “high-tragedy ” lo.ok he had 
been inclined to resent was the result chiefly of her 
wounded feelings in regard to the whole affair; and the in- 
nate humility which was — though many failed to perceive 
it — a real quality in Con’s character, made her penitent 
over her reception of the young man whom she began to 
see had undertaken a very thankless mission so far as he 
was himself concerned. To realize a fault was, with Con, 


24 


A GIRL'S ORbEAL. 


to make her anxious for atonement, and before they had 
reached New York her gentle efforts to be “good ” — as he 
humorously called it to himself — her readiness to listen to 
his talk of “ shop,” etc., etc., had quite won Mr. Droy over. 
He was, of course, from the outset well aware of her good 
looks, but under their more genial aspect he now began to 
perceive their charm as far more brilliant than he had im- 
agined, the final outcome of which reflection was a shrewd 
wonder as to “ how Gen would take it” Nevertheless, as he 
went on to reflect, “ Gen ” would have to endure it ! This 
girl knew how to dress, too — how to “ carry ” herself — how 
to speak and how to be silent. 

“ By Jove, it’ll be a contrast!” thought Mr. Droy as, to- 
wards sundown, he assisted Constance into a cab at Forty- 
second Street, and directing the man to the “ Vannert,” 
took his place by her side. A few moments more and 
there would be produced for his edification — if he waited 
— the very “Tug of War.” He was no judge of human 
nature if the superiority of “ Miss Reade,” as he began call- 
ing her even to himself, did not assert itself at once as 
something not to be trifled with — even by a woman of such 
executive ability as Mrs. Reade had proven herself to be ; 
and a certain sense of chivalry was roused in the young 
man since the journey had begun, growing into something 
before it ended which made him resolve, so far as he 
could help it, not to stand by and “ see the girl put upon.” 
He liked her air of pluck — there was no sign of the “ white 
feather ” in the way she carried herself, even when the 
carriage stopped before one of the huge hotels which have 
reared themselves on the Boulevard, as so many granite 
evidences of the power of the rich New Yorker to live as 
splendidly and easily as he sees fit. Constance roused 
herself with a new effort at composure. The pallor of her 
face was only transient. When she followed Mr. Droy into 
the very fine court-yard — thence by means of a luxurious 
elevator to the second floor of the Moorish building where 


“ FRIENDS OB FOES?” 


25 


her companion was evidently well known — her cheeks had 
a tinge almost of damask, and her eyes were shining. 

“ A remarkably good-looking girl and no mistake,” was 
Droy’s inward comment, as a voice behind one of the first 
doors on the corridor bade them enter. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

‘‘friends or foes?” 

A lady — tall, rather high-shouldered, but with what is 
commonly called a “ fine figure ” — turned from contempla- 
tion of the street below as they entered and came forward, 
a slight, very slight, air of indecision in her manner show- 
ing before she smiled and extended a large hand sparkling 
with rings. 

“ This is — Constance, I presume ?” said our heroine’s new 
connection; and as Constance smiled in answer, Mrs. 
Reade, with another spasm of the same uncertainty, bent 
down, just touching the girl’s cheek with her thin, rather 
chilly lips. 

Constance had “swept” the lady, whom she now found 
she remembered perfectly, with a searching glance — the 
result being precisely what one might feel on beholding 
an old-fashioned photograph suddenly put on the fash- 
ions, the pose and manner of its day. For, intrinsically 
Mrs. Reade had not changed. There was the same highly- 
colored, rather good-looking face, which had won its meed 
of approbation among the “ rough-and-ready ” set of Bel- 
chatel five years ago; the same profuse blonde hair, in 
which as yet not a streak of silver was to be seen ; the 
same “ full-blown ” red-and-white complexion, admired 
chiefly because all the world knew it to be “natural;” 
the same light-blue eyes, somewhat coarse mouth scarcely 


26 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


closing upon very handsome teeth, and the same voice, 
not an inflection altered, every tone of which Constance 
knew, now that she remembered all too well ! 

But whereas the Mrs. Henderson of that by-gone era had 
been forced to content herself with a very shabby black 
silk and cheap lace even for a Belchatel tea-party, the 
“Mrs. Reade” of to-day was clothed in raiment of the 
very richest texture and of elaborate design. A gown of 
two shades of brown fitted her figure with a view to dis- 
playing its good points and concealing ail defects ; lace of 
a priceless value was at her neck and wrists ; her jewels, 
if somewhat out of place so early in the day, sparkled as 
though to assert their value; diamonds and sapphires 
combined in the ear-rings, pendent, even the pin in the 
waves of her hair; while as she moved, not with the grace, 
it is true, her attire and position demanded, an odor of 
the newest perfume seemed to be in the air about her. 

“Yes,” observed Mr. Droy, cheerily, “it’s just as you 
say. This is Miss Constance. I presume she’s pretty well 
tired out. It w T as — well— such an unexpected journey for 
her.” 

“ Oh ! I shouldn’t wonder,” assented Mrs. Reade, in the 
crisp tones painfully familiar to her step-daughter, “ and 
I’ve a room ready for her. Martin, just touch that bell 
if you will — hard, please — they’re not as quick as they 
might be.” 

Desiring the servant who responded to send a maid and 
to “hurry up,” Mrs. Reade also ordered some light re- 
freshment, a “bottle of champagne and biscuits,” and 
when surprised at Constance’s gentle refusal of the wine, 
Mrs. Reade frankly lamented she had said “ a quart.” 

“ Never mind,” she continued, good-humoredly, as the 
chambermaid appeared. “Mary, this is — ahem! — Miss 
Reade, my step-daughter” with emphasis ; “ show her, you 
know, to 56.” 

And Constance, not without a feeling that her step- 


FRIENDS OR FOES?” 


27 


mother’s idea of receiving a guest was more that of a hotel- 
housekeeper than hostess, was glad enough to escape, 
thankful to find herself at last alone. 

The room assigned her faced the parlor she had quit- 
ted ; the usual elegancies of a fashionable hotel were in 
evidence. Her little bag was quickly unpacked, and after 
a rapid toilet, changes in which consisted only in her lay- 
ing aside her wraps, smoothing her rebelliously-w T avy 
hair, etc., Constance flung herself into an easy-chair — to 
think . What were they doing now at Amblesworth ? It 
was nearly six o’clock; a soft, delicious evening. The 
Doctor would be with Larry out in the greenhouses. Clare 
would perhaps be reading in the dining-room window one 
of the story papers dear to her gentle soul. Keon and 
Trivet, the dogs, would be snuffing the earth as they 
ran about almost under Larry’s feet, and the pigeons 
would be circling around and around about their 
“house.” 

Dear friends ! stanch hearts ! Natures so simple, loyal 
and easily understood ! No wordly wisdom cramped 
their hospitality or tender benedictions in farewell ! Con’s 
eyelids closed now suddenly, for tears were starting be- 
neath them, and it was as well, no doubt, that a knock 
upon her door swept from the canvas of her fancy this 
picture, so dangerously clear in all its details. 

“Come in!” she exclaimed with unnecessary force as 
she sprang to her feet and stood waiting for whoever her 
visitor might prove to be, hoping her agitation had left 
no outward sign. 

“ I’m so sorry I was out when you came,” said a girl’s 
voice, and Constance felt that it must be her step-sister 
who came into the room. “ I’ve been shopping,” contin- 
ued the tall, delicate-looking girl who appeared, putting 
up a “ pince-nez,” through which to inspect the new arri- 
val. “ How do you do ? now that we have met,” continued 
Miss Henderson, in a very high-pitched but good-natured 


28 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


voice ; and, as Constance responded with a good grace, the 
new-comer sank into an easy chair. 

“ My ! but I am tired !” she exclaimed. “ Do sit down 
and let’s have a look at each other. We may as well take 
it out in a good healthy stare right at the start,” she con- 
tinued, “ for it’ll save us casting sheep’s-eyes at each other 
for the next week or two. I know T d be doing it till I got 
you by heart, and I suppose you’re the same.” 

Miss Henderson gave the various bracelets on her wrists a 
gay little jingle, and replacing her eye-glasses turned thegaze 
they failed to shelter unflinchingly upon her companion. 

As Martin Droy had said, Mrs. Reade’s daughter 
looked decidedly older than her years ; also, Constance 
opined that gas-light would improve her general effect. 
Her costume — a brilliant combination of red and green — 
could scarcely have been more elaborate. She was a 
darker, thinner likeness of her mother; still she had an 
effectiveness of her own and a decided style which many 
a prettier girl might have envied. She looked delicate, 
but not at all worn ; she was active almost to eagerness in 
her manner. If the hue of her complexion was rather 
sallow, it was clear, and the sort which lights up well. 
Her dark eyes would have been really pretty but for their 
sharpness of expression. Her nose, decidedly her best 
feature, was cruelly straight, in a face where something 
piquant would have done much towards giving charm; 
while the lines about her mobile lips — they had a trick of 
moving in a silent way, expressing the owner’s scorn or 
mirth, as the case might be — suggested weakness or vacil- 
lation w r hich the obstinacy of the chin fairly balanced. 

“Well,” observed Miss Henderson, “ now we’re intro- 
duced, what do you think of me, my dear?” 

She extended her hand, which Constance took promptly 
with a manner she tried to make very cordial. 

“ Friends or foes, eh ?” continued Miss Henderson, 
much amused. 


“FRIENDS OR FOES?” 


29 


“ Oh ! not foes, at least,” said Constance, quickly, with 
a smile. “ We must not start out on that basis, Miss 
Henderson.” 

“ The idea !” said the young lady from Belchatel, with 
genuine disgust. “ Do you mean to say you intend talk- 
ing like that? Ain’t you going to call me by name?” 

Her face reddened, half angrity. 

“ I ” — Constance smiled faintly — “ I don’t know it,” she 
temporized. 

Miss Henderson’s brows showed her deep vexation. 

“ Do you mean to say,” she inquired, with an effort at 
careless scorn of what the answer would imply, (t Martin 
never mentioned it all that way ?” 

“ Do you mean Mr. Droy ?” said Constance. “ You see 
there were so many things to talk of; that is ” — as the face 
before her clouded more and more visibly — “ I was so 
confused and surprised,” she concluded, desperately ; 
“ you must admit I have had a great deal to think of in 
the course of one short day.” 

“ Oh, yes, I suppose so.” Miss Henderson shrugged 
her shoulders. ‘‘My name is Genevieve; I’m usually 
called ‘Gen.’ I’m surprised he didn’t mention it,” she 
added, going back to her grievance, “ for when he’s around 
it’s Gen here, and Gen there, every other minute. I’ve 
told him fifty times not to make it so common.” 

u I suppose,” suggested Constance, smiling, “ it must be 
on his mind, then.” 

The girl seized the pleasure of the compliment, for the 
color swept her face like a rosy wave, but she saw fit to 
appear merely disdainful. 

“ Oh, I guess it don’t hurt his mind very much,” she 
observed, with a twitch of her mouth and chin. “ Mart 
ain’t that kind.” 

There was a brief silence, which Miss Henderson broke at 
last by observing they would go to dinner earlier than usual, 
as she “ meant Mart should take them out somewheres.” 


30 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


And as she rose to leave her step-sister she turned, and 
with a brief little laugh said, in a half-shamefaced sort 
of way: 

“ Come, tell me right out. Were you mad to think 
Ma had married your father?” 

Constance felt it was impossible to answer. But when 
Miss Henderson had at last withdrawn, observing she 
guessed she'd have been mad, Constance found herself 
wondering what point of view Miss Henderson did take 
of the situation, since she seemed in nowise to feel her- 
self the injured party. Did it not imply that the Hender- 
sons were entirely on the independent, the generous, side? 
The idea seemed intolerable, and Constance found her- 
self impelled to seek some answer to her doubts by apply- 
ing to Martin Droy, whom she could not but regard as a 
friendly representative of her father. 

A knock at the door brought a messenger from Mrs. 
Reade to say the ladies were going down to dinner, and 
Constance followed the servant back to the parlor, where 
her new connections — she did not call them friends — were 
waiting. All traces of ill-humor had disappeared from 
Miss Henderson’s vivacious countenance, and as they 
proceeded to the elevator she linked her arm in that of 
Constance with the freedom of an old acquaintance. 

“ Say, Ma,” she observed, with her bright laugh, as they 
were going down, “ Constance here began calling me Miss 
Henderson.” Mrs. Henderson only smiled a trifle ab- 
sently; and her daughter continued, “ Just you wait till 
Mart hears that. I wonder where there’s a nice place he 
can take us ?” 

“You’ll just about wear him out, Gen,” observed her 
mother. 

“Oh! he’ll last a day or two — with care,” said Gene- 
vieve. “ I’m on the watch for signs of heart-failure. I 
know the symptoms.” 

A long mirror near the entrance to the dining-room 


“FRIENDS OR FOES t” 


31 


gave her an opportunity for a brief inspection of herself. 
But Constance’s figure was revealed in rather too striking 
contrast. What made up the young girl’s chief claim to 
beauty, the fair distinction of brow and eyes, pose of head 
and carriage of shoulders, the veiled brilliance of the eyes 
themselves, the perfect curve of the fresh young lips and 
softly-moulded chin, all set off by her gown of dark, al- 
most invisible green, which was here and there brightened 
by a trimming of gold braid, struck her companion with 
a feeling of almost bewilderment as she beheld it rimmed 
against her own striking apparel and undeniably second- 
rate sort of style. 

“I declare this dress is a little too-too,” she observed; 
but they were entering the dining-room. Her eye-glasses 
were brought into requisition, and Constance felt relieved 
to find that, once at the table, both of her companions 
had ample occupation in selecting their dinner from an 
elaborate menu. 

From time to time during dinner Genevieve’s eyes wan- 
dered with frank annoyance to the door which never 
opened to admit Mr. Droy, whom she evidently regarded 
as their appointed squire. It was a relief to all mem- 
bers of the uncongenial party when, on regaining the 
parlor, they discovered him enjoying his cigar and even- 
ing paper in the window; and, rising to answer their 
greetings, he did not betray much fear of what he might 
have to encounter from his failure to appear at the even- 
ing meal. 

“ Well, upon my word !” said Miss Henderson, promptly. 
“ So your high mightiness did come back ! Now, where 
can we go this evening ?” 

“ Must we — go?” inquired Droy, with a smile. “Gen, 
will you never be satiated with the sights of New York?” 

u I don’t know about sights scorned Genevieve. “ I 
want something to amuse us. Come,” she added, seizing 
his paper. “ What shall it be ?” 


32 


A Gill US ORDEAL. 


“ Martin/’ interrupted Mrs. Reade, in a lower voice, but 
very clearly audible, “ did you get that address ?” 

“ Certainly ; there was no difficulty about it.” He drew 
a card from his pocket-case, glanced at it, and then handed 
it to his cousin, who studied it for a moment in silence, 
while Droy turned with a much more amiable manner to 
ask Constance where she would like to go. 

“It’s a good season — just the last rush of everything,” 
he remarked ; “ but Gen enjoys something lively !” 

“ I would like to see Mr. Blount in the morning,” said 
Mrs. Reade, rousing from her own abstraction, during 
which she had stood gazing down into the fireplace. 

A few logs diffused a pleasant warmth, for the night 
was chill. 

“ Very well ; at what time?” inquired her man of business. 
Apparently he could engineer the affairs of both mother 
and daughter with equal skill, and he turned from contem- 
plation of Genevieve’s eager face to the anxious one of her 
mother with the necessary change in his own expression. 

“ Ten — no, eleven — o’clock,” said Mrs. Reade, decisively. 
“ I think I would prefer to let it be at his office.” 

“As you choose ; only, mind and keep the appointment. 
Well, Miss Reade,” he continued, his more social manner 
returning, “ where shall we go ?” 

“ I can’t choose,” said Constance, to whom, truth to tell, 
an evening out with Genevieve and Mr. Droy did not 
commend itself as particularly delightful. She would in- 
finitely have preferred remaining at home, but Genevieve 
began now to rattle off a list of amusements advertised. It 
was all more or less Greek to her step-sister, who listened, 
merely waiting the limit to be reached and the selection 
to be made. 

Suddenly Genevieve gave a little jump, exclaiming: 

“ Oh, yes; here it is! A comic opera we haven’t seen. 
Come on, Mart; it’s called the 4 Tailor of Pekin' It’s sure 
to be funny. Now let’s hurry up. Come on, Con.” 


FENTON. 


33 


And not waiting for any expression of opinion from the 
others concerned, Genevieve swept Constance away with 
her, telling her at the door of her own room “ not to fuss.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

FENTON. 

Martin Droy found himself decidedly anxious, as he pro- 
cured tickets for the opera, that it should prove all he felt 
Miss Reade would like to see and hear. The misgivings as 
to refinements, or even ultra propriety , which never troubled 
him where only Genevieve was concerned, occurred now, 
making it difficult, until the piece was quite under way, 
for him to feel at ease. But, fortunately, it proved harm- 
less — not even very funny, although Genevieve seemed 
delighted by the kind of humor it contained, the jingling 
music, spicy dialogue, the brilliant costuming and scenery, 
while Constance brought all the pleasure of unsophistica- 
tion to the experience. Her grave young eyes lighted as 
the scenic effects were produced; the lines of her delicate 
profile, next to Droy’s, relaxed now and then, as the fun 
became too uproarious to be criticized. 

The curtain had just gone down upon the second act 
when Genevieve, with a little start, began to bow repeat- 
edly towards some one at the other side of the house, and 
in answer to Droy’s rather impatient inquiry she said, 
briefly, “ Fenton,” and added to the bow a fluttering, en- 
couraging smile, which it would appear was successful, 
for she presently leaned back with a sigh of gratification. 

A moment later the object of her regard made his way 
slowly down the aisle, pausing just before he reached the 
party to glance with an air of surprise past Droy to Con- 

3 


34 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL . 


stance, who, by virtue of her being the guest of the occa- 
sion, occupied the adjoining seat. 

Genevieve promptly stretched out her hand, and as the 
new comer took it she said, carelessly : 

“ Mr. Fenton, my step-sister — Miss Reade ;” an introduc- 
tion Constance acknowledged as casually as it was given, 
while Mr. Fenton, after exchanging a word with Droy, 
took a seat temporarily vacant just behind that of Miss 
Henderson’s own. 

If the interchange of remarks between the two proved 
rather vapid or foolishly personal, as Constance thought, 
she w r as forced to acknowledge to herself that the tones 
of Mr. Fenton’s voice were peculiarly agreeable. They 
were those of a man of culture and refinement. Con- 
stance felt rather than heard a slight hint of satire in their 
earnestness when he said anything complimentary; and 
once, as Genevieve, with her color flying, took him to task 
for some speech, Constance involuntarily glanced at him 
with a look which she had no idea clearly betrayed her 
own feelings. It was an additional annoyance that the 
pair of dark eyes, whose glance met hers at once and 
steadily, seemed to express what their owner might have 
easily put into words. They said, plainly : “ You know 
the girl likes this. I am merely pleasing her;” while 
Constance’s answer, flashed back, was one of supremest 
contempt. Not once again did she look in Mr. Fenton’s 
direction. 

But slight opportunity indeed was afforded had she been 
inclined, since the curtain was soon lifted. The stupid, 
rattling performance recommenced. For some reason it 
afforded Constance decided relief, but Genevieve continued 
to refer to him — her disdain having now quite given way 
to a fluttering sort of gratification over the many nice 
speeches he had made her. 

If Constance had expressed herself candidly she would 
have declared the walk home through the still brightly- 


MR. BLOUNT IS REMINISCENT. 


35 


lighted streets pleased her quite as much as anything in 
the evening’s amusement. What attracted her most were 
various florists’ windows they passed, wherein, although 
the shops themselves were closed or closing, the displays, 
finely illuminated, were well worth more than a passing 
glance. 


CHAPTER X. 

MR. BLOUNT IS REMINISCENT. 

ci If it’s city property you’re after, I’d say not a bad in- 
vestment,” said Mr. Rufus Blount. “ Buy low for cash and 
hold on a' while. Now, what does Mr. Reade advise ?” 

Mr. Blount’s visitor smiled coldly. 

“ Mr. Reade leaves that to me,” said his wife. “ I came 
on here just to attend to all that kind of business. All he 
cares is that we should have a home of our own. You 
see, we’re anxious — I am, anyway — to get going as soon as 
possible.” 

Mr. Blount smiled and slowly shook his head. He was 
not in the least overawed by the present wealth and air 
of importance of his old friend Retta Henderson, whom 
he had known very well as Retta Judkins, with scarcely 
the second gown to her back, when he was out West five- 
and-twenty years ago. He had managed, or helped her to 
manage, more than one little investment, and he had every 
reason to admire her shrewdness and sagacity. Even 
if this social scheme appeared rather too venturesome, 
he had no doubt she would turn it to some account. 

‘‘Well, then,” he continued, growing more affable, 
“ what can I do ? I can suggest a very fine, well-fur- 
nished house this minute, good neighborhood, highly gen- 
teel, even fashionable, if you come to that; owner in 


36 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


Europe. Suppose you take a look at it? It’s worth some- 
thing, you know, even to rent the house the Corbetts live 
in when they are at home. Take it for the year and see 
how it works. You know just what you’re paying out, and 
by another season you’ll be readier to buy just what’ll fill 
the bill. See?” 

“Yes, of course you know the city better than I do. I 
suppose New York’s the best place ?” 

“ Oh, yes, yes, yes, for your — purpose. There’s nothing 
like New York, after all. Now, will you take a look at the 
Corbett house?” He put his hand on the bell beside him, 
hesitating just the moment it took Mrs. Reade to say 
“ Yes,” and when he had sent his clerk to a neigh- 
boring real estate agent he resumed a theme which had 
started their conference. 

“ Now, you follow my advice, Mrs. Reade, just line for 
line. See? You hold on to that Wetherby paper tight as 
wax. Don’t you let on you ever saw or heard of it, but 
don’t you think of losing it. And just as soon as Reade 
turns up, you let me know what he means to do with the 
Little Purchase property.” 

“ HeP exclaimed Mrs. Reade; “ he can’t make or mar 
that. You’ve got things mixed, Blount. Mr. Reade’s 
property or money is all in the Nepomonset. Now, don’t 
get that wrong,” she continued, with some excitment; 
“ you ought to understand by this time that where actual 
capital is concerned he will have to look to me !” 

“All right,’’ assented Mr. Blount, with a dry sort of 
chuckle. “ Now, then, will you go at once to the Corbett 
house?” 

“ No. I have one or two matters to attend to, and I 
don't suppose at this season of the year it will be snapped 
up so quickly that a few hours will make any difference. 
Now, then, let me have five hundred dollars.” 

He elevated his brows, but as he was preparing to fill 
out the check, Mrs. Reade, who had been beating a rest- 


MR. BLOUNT IS REMINISCENT. 


37 


less tattoo on the table with her gloved fingers, said, in a 
lighter tone : 

“Come, Blount, you know you’re dying of curiosity; 
now, ain’t you? I don’t deny I’ve spent money lately 
pretty free, but did you ever see me reckless ? I guess 
not. I ain’t ashamed to tell you now what I intend doing. 
Reade may be along any minute, and I mean he shall 
see I’ve done well by the girl without waiting for him. 
I’m going to fit her out in style — good as my own.” 

The lawyer permitted his still quasi-humorous gaze to 
rest for an instant upon his client; then, with the same 
dubious shake of his head, he proceeded to make out the 
check before him. 

“Now, then, if you have the address I’ll be off, and 
when I see you next perhaps I’ll be ready for you to take 
the house for me at once.” 

The messenger had by this time returned with a permit 
to inspect the Corbett mansion, and Mr. Blount, giving it 
to her, added a word or two of quite unnecessary caution 
as to her not seeming too eager for the bargain. 

“ It beats me,” was his reflection, “ how Retta Judkins 
has contrived to compass it all ! W ell, it’s her own money, 
that’s a sure thing. Easy seen she’s a bit afraid of Reade. 
Any woman over-anxious to please a man always is a trifle 
skeery.” 

And then Mr. Blount, who never entrusted any of his 
special business to his clerk, proceeded to make three 
or four very careful entries in his own account-book. 

“ Did you see that lady I took out to the elevator awhile 
ago?” he inquired of his neighbor, a shrewd, oldish-young 
man, who came in at that moment. 

“Yes, I noticed her,” said Mr. Xingsley, with the air 
of a man to whom the sex were individually of no great 
importance. 

“Well,” pursued Blount, rather pleased by his oppor- 
tunity, “I’ll just tell you something about that woman.” 


38 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


He tilted his chair back, the humorous side of the situa- 
tion again appealing to him. “ Fifteen years ago she was 
just a mere drudge — yes, sir, an unpaid drudge — no one 
out where she comes from gave her credit for being much 
smarter than anybody else. Her husband was a poor 
kind of a creature, one of the sort born sort of all lop- 
sided ; never, so to speak, stood up straight. 

“ Hera was the master-mind every time. Well, he died, 
and I declare if it didn’t turn out that Sam Henderson 
wasn’t such a lop-sided fool, after all. Any way, there 
was a pot of money, and all that kind of thing — Weth- 
erby Mine shares — and she turned out one of the richest 
women, by Jove, sir, in the State !” 

u Well?” said Kingsley, in his easy manner. He knew 
there was more to follow. 

“ Welly sir,” proceeded the lawyer, chuckling as though 
he saw the astonished inhabitants of Belchatel around 
him, “ well, sir, she was smarter than ever she was before. 
Maybe you don’t know her kind just as I do. She knew 
just what she wanted. This particular specimen of the 
species woman we are always being surprised over had 
one ambition. She wasn’t a lady. See ? Not a real out- 
and-outer, and she knew it; too keen not to know her own 
shortcomings. Well, sir, as she couldn’t very well buy 
the privilege of being born all over again of parents to her 
own liking, the next best thing was to marry a gentleman. 
And now listen why I call her such a smart woman. She 
got her gentleman — one of the few there were out in that 
wild place — a tip-top article — and he had money in the 
bargain.” 

w Oh, pshaw !” remonstrated Kingsley. 

He wondered at his friend’s credulity. 

“ I know; I see what you mean,” said Mr. Blount, 
still gleeful, u but I am telling you the truth. Why, every 
one around Belchatel knew what Mark Reade was.” 

“ Mark Reade !” exclaimed Kingsley, in an altered tone. 


MR. BLOUNT IS REMINISCENT. 


39 


“ What’s the matter?” said Blount, quickly. 

“ It may not be the same,” said Kingsley, in his ordi- 
nary voice ; “it just happens I went to school in New 
Haven once with a Mark Reade.” 

In all of Mr. Blount’s passages with his neighbor 
nothing so historically interesting had occurred. 

“ The Reade I am talking about was a Yale man/’ said 
the lawyer ; “ I am sure of that.” 

“ It may or may not be the same,” said Kingsley, whose 
one reserve with Blount was on social questions. 

“Well, anyhow,” said Mr. Blount, after a brief pause, 
“she married her gentleman out of hand, and now she’s 
ready to set up as a fine lady of fashion. But the trouble 
is, she ain’t quite sure of just how she’s going to do it. 
But she’ll get there; oh, yes. If there’s four hundred in 
it already, she’ll be number four hundred and one.” 

“Well, she may do it,” said Kingsley, rising; “they 
don’t wear their particular numbers tagged on, as I un- 
derstand it. Mrs. 394 won’t be any the wiser so long as 
Mrs. 401 has her feet within the hallowed precincts.” 

“ Right you are ; but blest if I think she knows a soul.” 

Mr. Kingsley smiled, as though he considered his 
friend’s point of view childishly weak. 

“Why, what’s the matter with you?” he said, moving 
towards the door; “don’t you know how that thing 
works? Just let her go tG a few of the fashionable water- 
ing-places, or — why ” — he looked a trifle confused — “if I 
knew her I’d straighten all that out.” 

“ How ?” demanded Blount, wheeling around to detain 
his guest. He remembered that he had heard Kingsley 
spoken of as a man of high social connection. “ How ? 
What would you do?” he continued, dropping all tone of 
banter. 

“ Oh,” said Kingsley, carelessly, “ I’d introduce her my- 
self. I don’t suppose she actually eats with her knife, and 
there’s nothing unpleasant in the past to crop up.” 


40 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


“ Oh, no; I’d risk money on that,” said Blount, thought- 
fully. “ You saw her. She knows how to hold her own. 
From what I hear, I don’t believe Reade cares two straws 
about it; but it’s a goal — the only goal — she’s working for. 
I’m no good. I don’t know five women this side of Rhode 
Island who could help her. I never bothered with them. 
But — see here, Kingsley, why can’t you do something?” 

The red flickered across Mr. Kingsley’s habitually col- 
orless countenance, but he said nothing. He knew many 
women belonging to the so-called fashionable circle of 
New York, but the question was, whether they would care 
to receive Mrs. Mark Reade, no matter what the splendor 
of her surroundings. 

“Well, wait until she’s in her own house,” he said, 
finally; “there’s a cousin of mine I 'might mention the 
facts to.” 

“ Go ahead,” said Blount, almost gayly ; “ your cousin 
won’t lose by it, and the woman’s all right. I’ll go bail 
that far ; and the money’s there — piles of it.” 

“ I wonder,” reflected Kenrick Kingsley, as he returned 
to his office, “ whether it’s worth while to mention this 
matter to Alicia Colestoun. She rather likes being spon- 
sor now and then when the money’s so secure, and Blount 
never makes that kind of a mistake.” 


CHAPTER XL 

MRS. TOM COLESTOUN. 

There was just enough interest in the question to jus- 
tify Mr. Kingsley in leaving his club after his dinner to 
call upon Mrs. Colestoun in her admirably-appointed lit- 
tle mansion near Gramercy Square, and where, as the 
Fates were kindly disposed to have it, the lady of the 


MRS. TOM COLESTOUN. 


41 


house was entirely alone and decidedly bored. She always 
had a welcome for her husband’s cousin. 

He was pleasant company ; received her little grumbles 
with a judicious mingling of S}^mpathy and advice. He 
never called her social ambitions folly, and while he ac- 
credited her with all that good breeding demanded, he did 
not call her to account when he saw through any of her 
shams or devices, and in return he enjoyed the pleasant- 
est kind of hospitality. 

Mrs. Colestoun was in the back drawing-room when 
Mr. Kingsley made his appearance. The page of the book 
open on her knee had not been turned for the last fifteen 
minutes. 

“Oh, is that you, Ken?” said Mrs. Colestoun, evidently 
well pleased as he appeared. “ You won’t mind my not 
moving. I suppose you’ve dined, but will you have a cup 
of tea ?’’ 

“Don’t disturb yourself,” said Kingsley, crossing the 
room. “I’ve dined, and I don’t care for tea or coffee. 
You, however, may require something bracing when you 
know my errand.” 

“ I hope not. I’m as enervated now as I care to feel.” 

Mrs. Colestoun was not exactly a pretty woman, but was 
spoken of as a very lovely one by those who used the term 
in its physical sense alone. It was, perhaps, intended to 
convey an idea of her fascination of look and manner, 
which certainly, when she chose to exert them, few could 
resist. 

She had pretty, fair brown hair, eyes of babyish blue, 
and a mouth which seemed formed only for the most con- 
ventional, gentlest of utterances. She never smiled in a 
meaningless way, although she had a pretty dimple, nor 
wasted words, although she was spoken of as a delightful 
conversationalist. 

There was not the slightest effort at concealment of her 
age, which many knew to have reached the tliree-and- 


42 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


thirty years to which she admitted ; but there was grati- 
fication in the fact, since no one would have guessed her 
to be over twenty-six or twenty-seven. Mrs. Colestoun 
was perfectly well aware of her distinguished appearance, 
and only wondered that Tom Colestoun had ever dis- 
covered it. But he had long ago appeared to have for- 
gotten that it had once bewitched him. 

“And you say,” said Mrs. Colestoun, after listening to 
Kingsley’s very plain statement of the case, “you wish 
me to call on those people, then ? What possible reason 
could I give?” 

Kingsley smiled. 

“ My dear Alicia, is it possible you imagine they would 
require a reason ? You have merely to present yourself at 
their hotel ; say, if you like, a friend of Mr. Blount’s, your 
cousin, Kenrick Kingsley, requested you to call. Do I 
need to suggest social methods to a seasoned diplomat 
like yourself?” 

Mrs. Colestoun remained for a few moments absorbed 
in thought. She was never averse to obliging Kingsley, 
and just now there were certain reasons why a very rich 
heiress might be an acquisition in the position of an inti- 
mate friend, or, better still, protege. 

“ Very well ; I will do my best,” she said, finally, raising 
her blue eyes, with serenity in their depths again. 

“ Which means,” said Kingsley, very graciously, “ that 
madame and mademoiselle will be taken captive and my 
friend Blount be proportionately grateful.” 

She laughed — not, however, the soft, little laugh of her 
careless moments. 

“ What form does his gratitude usually take?” she in- 
quired. 

“ I don’t doubt, if it were to be made merely a matter 
of business,” said Kingsley, coolly, “he would not hesi- 
tate for an instant about signing a check; and he wouldn’t 
think it out of place, either. But, at all events, just now I 


THE CORBETT MANSION IS VIEWED. 


43 


don’t think such a very bald way of doing things need be 
considered. You can trust me to keep his obligation suf- 
ficiently before him. Then — why, it is more than prob- 
able they will take the Corbett house for the year, and 
they want to make a little excursion somewhere in the 
summer.” 

“ The Corbett house ! Why, Ken ! that will take a small 
fortune to keep up of itself!” 

“ All right,” said Kingsley, who was beginning now to 
thoroughly enjoy himself. “ Don’t you understand, my 
dear girl, it isn’t a question of money? Not in the least. 
Have I been so very dull in my way of stating the case?” 

“You have been, as you always are, most satisfactory 
and lucid,” remarked Mrs. Colestoun. “ When there is, 
as you put it, no question of money, it is remarkable how 
the difficulties smooth themselves away. Do you suppose I 
shall find them very outre ? hard to take to, for instance ?’ ’ 

u You won’t; but, you see, I have never had the pleasure 
of their personal acquaintance, so I am no judge. Make 
your call at two or three o'clock to-morrow,” continued 
Kingsley, rising, “ and I’ll guarantee their being at home. 
Blount will attend to that.” 

“ Very well.” She held his hand an instant, and then 
said, with some constraint, “ Tom’s in ; up in his ‘ den.’ 
Will you smoke a pipe with him before you leave ?” 

“ Not to-night. But don’t forget to say I asked for him.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE CORBETT MANSION IS VIEWED. 

Mrs. Reade dispatched her business with the fashion- 
able dressmaker to whom she had entrusted her own ward- 
robe, feeling that Constance should be very grateful to her 


44 


A GIBUS ORDEAL . 


for what she was doing, since, of course, no ulterior motive 
could have suggested itself to the young girl’s mind. 

There still remained two or three hours of daylight where- 
by to inspect the Corbett mansion, that dwelling about 
which so many of her highest ambitions might centre. 

The Corbett mansion was a corner one, not far from 
Madison Square, and bore the stamp of having been the 
home of a family who could afford to keep it up in its 
best condition or leave it, as the case might be. Within, 
everything, although shrouded in gauze and Holland, and 
only revealed when the caretaker opened each room in 
turn, was solid, handsome ; as Mrs. Reade called it to her- 
self, “ grand .’ ’ 

Portraits, as well as other paintings, adorned the walls; 
high cabinets, filled with articles she had no doubt were 
valuable; some statuary, by no means of great artistic 
value, but which to her eyes seemed to give the rooms an 
incredibly fine appearance ; a grand piano, an enormous 
musical box, here and there rugs rich in fabric though 
dull in tone, all contributed to produce the very effect Mrs. 
Reade desired. She had entertained a thought of build- 
ing later, but this place would be sufficient for the present. 
The very signs of occupancy were agreeable. Mr. Reade, 
had he been with her, would have used a favorite phrase 
and said there was “ nothing to tone down .” 

So far, so good. Mrs. Reade descended the stairs listen- 
ing to the caretaker’s talk, and as she slipped a gratuity 
into the woman’s hand she observed her carefully for the 
first time. It was an honest face; quiet and intelligent; 
that of a woman of experience in living with the class 
who owned or inherited dwellings of this kind. It occurred 
to the visitor that such a person as the woman in charge 
of Mr. Corbett’s home could offer her suggestions in regard 
to her formation of a household of her own. 

A brief consultation proved the idea a good one. Mrs. 
Sims agreed to supply a well-trained corps of servants, in- 


TIIE CORBETT MANSION IS VIEWED. 


45 


eluding that most necessary individual, an experienced 
lady’s maid. 

And then, feeling as though her feet were really nearing 
the social ladder she had determined to scale to its dizziest 
height, Mrs. Reade took her leave, directing the cabman to 
the nearest telegraph office, where, late as it was, she re- 
lieved her mind by sending a dispatch to Rufus Blount. 

“Take Corbett house at once. Will see you Thursday , A. MP 

Returning home, the first thing that met Mrs. Reade’s 
eye was the card-tray on which half a dozen elegantly-en- 
graved pasteboards were placed ; Mrs. Tom Colestoun had 
called. 

“ She was so sorry to find you were out,” explained Con- 
stance ; “ but I tried to make it agreeable for her. She 
talked so much about you.” 

“ About me?” 

Mrs. Reade was so well pleased that she beamed gra- 
ciously upon Constance, who continued : 

“ But we talked of ever so many things besides.” 

Genevieve frowned petulantly. 

“ Oh ! I wish I had been at home !” 

“ Never mind,” said Constance, “ I told her all about 
you, and she hopes to see you very soon.” 

“ Well, that was very nice of you, Con, I’m sure,” ad- 
mitted Genevieve. It had begun to dawn upon her that 
her step-sister was not particularly jealous of her. Mrs. 
Reade had removed the jet and crimson “ creation ” from 
her head, laid aside her wraps, and seated herself to give 
all possible details of their expedition. But her eyes wan- 
dered more than once to Mrs. Colestoun’s cards, which were 
like another finger-post on the new road she intended travel- 
ling, which the securing of the Corbett house had begun. 

“ This lady,” said Constance, presently, “ asked me 
whether you were going anywhere in particular next Wed- 
nesday. I said I did not know of any engagement, and 
she said she hoped to see us very soon.” 


46 


A GIBES ORDEAL. 


“ Ma !” cried Genevieve in high glee, “ don’t you under- 
stand ? Why, when we return her call she will invite us 
somewhere for Wednesday. I declare, I think New York’s 
just about grand ! Dear me ! I wonder how soon we ought 
to go ? I won’t forget to ask Martin Droy, if he comes in 
this evening. Con, what is she like? Old, or what?” 

“ Oh, no,” said Constance, “ not old at all. She is tall 
and slender, and very graceful. I don’t know wdiether 
you would call her beautiful. No, I don’t think you w r ould ; 
but she is decidedly fascinating.” 

Mrs. Colestoun considered it quite a stroke of luck to 
have found only Constance at home when she made the 
call, which was like the first note of what she meant to be 
a very triumphant blast, socially, later on, and it was 
like a miracle to find the girl so charming. 

“ When I had expected something half savage,” she re- 
marked to Kenrick Kingsley, who called to hear what had 
taken place later in the evening. “ My dear Ken, I as- 
sure you if the girl had been the Princess Royal, she 
could not have done it all better. Where do you suppose 
she has picked up such manners ?” 

Kingsley’s brows drew together. 

“ Come, Alicia,” he said, smiling faintly, “ manners of 
that kind, you ought to know, cannot be picked up. You 
might as well try to buy a pedigree. She’s Reade’s daugh- 
ter, remember, and didn’t I tell you he was a gentleman?” 

“ Quite right,” said Mrs. Colestoun, thoughtfully ; “ the 
others are very different. Never mind, they are coming 
here toluncheon on Wednesday, quite informally. Won’t 
you come ? I’m sure you’re not alarming. You might drop 
in/’ 

“After lunch, possibly. I’ll be here if I come at all, 
about half-past three or four. Give me a chance to talk 
to Miss Reade, will you?” 

“ Yes ; but Ken, take care; how do you know whether 
she is the heiress?” 


AN INITIAL AFTERNOON 


47 


Kingsley smiled in liis queer fashion when anything 
impressed him as humorous, because it was so beyond 
reason. 

“You don’t suppose Reade has lost his money, do 
you ?” he inquired. “ 1 have been told only this very 
morning he had made a pot of it out there.” 

“ Well, then, all I can say is, this girl has a clean sweep 
before her next winter.” 

“ I need him, of course,” was Mrs. Colestoun’s reflection 
when her ally had taken his departure ; “ but I shall keep 
my eyes very wide open and see just what he means to do. 
Anyway, there is no chance of his entering the lists as a 
pr'etendre for the girl. Ken never goes beyond his own 
strength — there lies the secret of his success.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

AN INITIAL AFTERNOON. 

Mrs. Colestoun had been liberal enough in saying that 
no one else was invited to luncheon, but she had seen to 
it that, apart from Kenrick Kingsley, one or two of her 
chosen habitufo would drop in later in the day. Mrs. 
Thomas, who came first, was a friend and neighbor the 
lady of the house could always “ rely upon ” — sociable, 
chatty, perfectly good form, but never tiresome. Two tall 
girls named Farnsworth, from Stuyvesant Square, came 
next, adding their quota of bright, inconsequent small 
talk in voices and with a manner which, combined with 
their simplicity of dress, gave Genevieve to conclude that 
they were English. 

A lull in the conversation all around had taken place, 
Mrs. Colestoun wondering what new idea of being very late 
had occurred to Kenrick, when her cousin appeared, mak- 


48 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


ing his way very leisurely into the room. He was look- 
ing, evidently feeling, his very best. 

Two other men appeared, bidden with as much care in 
the selection as Mrs. Colestoun’s other guests; and Gene- 
vieve, who, where the opposite sex was concerned, had ap- 
parently very few prejudices, was soon engaged in a lively 
conversation with a tall young man, exceedingly well- 
dressed, fairly good-looking, in a bland, indefinite sort of 
way, and who laughed over nearly everything she said, 
answering her in the same spirit of gay, rather careless, 
banter, which distinguished her own remarks. 

Kingsley, at the lower end of the room, where he had 
found a very comfortable easy-chair for Constance and 
another for himself, was thanking Fate in the most fervent 
manner that Alicia’s present little scheme had such agree- 
able accessories, while he contrived to draw from the girl 
before him an unconsciously clear statement of her pres- 
ent surroundings. 

“ And you say,” observed Kingsley, with his pleasant 
smile, “you say you don’t know many people here as 
yet?” 

“ I did not,” said Constance, laughing ; “ nevertheless it 
is perfectly true. We are, you know, of the West, west- 
ern — that is — ’’ 

“ Oh, your father, of course,” interrupted Kingsley in a 
commendatory tone, impossible not to be pleasing to his 
daughter. “I know all about Mr. Reade. He is a New 
England man. I remember him myself.” 

“ You?” said Constance, looking with surprise upon the 
smooth-shaven, well-cut face of the man before her, who, 
until she came to be so critical, had not impressed her as 
being anything like her father’s age. “Why!” she ex- 
claimed, “my father is forty-seven!” 

Kingsley leaned back in his chair and smiled. “ I ap- 
preciate the compliment,” he said, truthfully, “ and I wish 
I did not need to undeceive you, Miss Reade. It is true 


AN INITIAL AFTERNOON 


49 


I am not quite your father’s contemporary. There’s half 
a dozen years or more between us. I regarded him as 
something far and away above and beyond my grasp, 
mentally or socially. He was very brilliant ; a capital 
talker; always to the point; keen, quick as a flash, and 
very fine-looking.” 

Constance listened, her heart beating with happy 
strokes. No surer way to her regard could the cleverest 
man of the world have discovered. 

Kingsley was not one to indulge sentimental fancies. 
Poetry was not at all in his line, and he dismissed any 
touch of it promptly, while as they moved to join the rest 
of the company he inquired how they proposed to employ 
the next week. 

“ You see, Miss Reade,” said Mrs. Colestoun, who turned 
to listen to her cousin’s inquiry, “ we are all anxious to 
see how society here, amusements — everything and any- 
thing — impress you all. We expect some very fair and 
frank verdicts and opinions.” 

Constance laughed. “ I hope you will not be disap- 
pointed,” she said, gayly, “if we are not very original. 
It’s so difficult not to be rather like somebody else, isn’t 
it ? Shall you feel badly, Mr. Kingsley,” she added, turn- 
ing her eyes with a great spirit of fun in them, “ if we are 
not very much surprised by all we see and hear? You 
see, we have in turn our own investigations to make.” 

“ I’ll risk the disappointment,” he answered, as they all 
laughed. Excepting himself, only the original party were 
now in the room, and he concluded it might be an appro- 
priate time to offer his own little entertainment. 

“If you ladies are not better employed,” he said, glanc- 
ing from Mrs. Colestoun to Mrs. Reade, thence back to the 
young ladies, “ how would you like to drive out next Fri- 
day to the club-house and lunch there?” 

It was arranged. A short time later, after putting the 
ladies into their carriage, Mr. Kingsley returned to Mrs. 

4 


50 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


Colestoun’s drawing-room, where he stood for a moment, 
lost in thought. 

“ My dear Alicia,” he said at last, “ allow me to con- 
gratulate you, and consider me your humblest squire! 
The girl is simply charming ! A trifle young and un- 
formed, no doubt, but all that will change in time.” 

He waved his hand lightly in the air. He looked 
younger and brighter than Mrs. Colestoun had seen him 
in months. “ We have a calm sea and a prosperous voy- 
age ahead of us this time, let us hope.” 

Mrs. Colestoun shrugged her shoulders carelessly. 

“ Take care ! Don’t forget your usual prudence, Ken. 
And,” she looked at him very critically, “above all 
things, don’t commit the supreme folly of being epris 
yourself.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A COACHING PARTY. 

The next week flew by. The coaching trip was duly 
made, productive of all the hilarity to his guests and sat- 
isfaction to himself that Kingsley could have desired. 
The crowning touch was put to Genevieve’s satisfaction 
and prospect of pleasure when Mr. Kingsley invited Mar- 
tin Droy to be of the party. Meeting him at Mrs. Reade’s, 
he had quickly observed his position as “ confidential 
friend ” of the family, and concluded the courtesy ex- 
tended worth his while. The party included, besides, 
Captain Dayton and young Charlie Brent, two of the 
most creditable representatives of the circle towards which 
these new “ Gothamites ” were veering. 

When Captain Dayton undertook to give Constance 
certain details of club-life duties, amusements, require- 


A COACHING PARTY. 


51 


merits, etc., she listened with the pleasure of a child, 
frankly admitting a hope that wery soon a certain Mrs. 
Breckton Lawrence, the presiding goddess of this charmed 
circle, would make their acquaintance. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt you’ll enjoy it all immensely,” said 
young Dayton, as they loitered in one of the deep windows 
of a room overlooking the river. 

“Do they give parties here, I wonder?” asked Constance. 

“Yes — one kind — oh, what a pity! but perhaps you 
ride,” said her companion, quickly. 

“What!” exclaimed Constance. “ Why, Captain Day- 
ton ! considering where we came from, doesn’t that go 
without saying ? Miss Henderson asked Mr. Droy to-day 
to see about a good mount.” 

“ Oh ! better and better!” declared the Captain. “ You 
know our riding-party breakfasts are a great feature with 
the club. Kingsley,” he went on, as that gentleman drew 
near. After “ doing duty ” admirably, to Mrs. Reade’s in- 
tense satisfaction, he considered himself entitled to leav- 
ing her to his cousin and enjoying a respite for himself. 
“ Kingsley,” pursued the little Captain in a brisk tone, 
“ do you know that Miss Reade rides ?” 

“ Certainly,” returned the infallible man of the world. 
“ Mr. Droy has asked me to look with him at some excel- 
lent animals at Dick’s, and,” turning to Constance, “I 
hope to see you well suited very soon — before our special 
June meeting.” 

“Shouldn't the ladies’ names be entered at once?” in- 
quired Captain Dayton. Mr. Kingsley assented, but al- 
lowed the matter to drop. Not so, however, Genevieve, 
to whom something of the same kind had been said, and 
who, in parting from Mr. Brent with a very cordial pres- 
sure of his hand, observed, in her airiest manner: 

“ Now don’t you go to work and forget! We’re to be 
members of that club of yours before June. See?” 

The drive had only been a prelude to the membership, 


52 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


which Kingsley and Mrs. Colestoun were quite capable 
of managing. They knew far better than to have taken 
Mrs. Reade and the young girls to the club-house unless 
admission to its membership could be compassed. It was 
certainly very near the “ dizzy height,” since no organiza- 
tion was more exclusive. 

At present Kingsley was cultivating Martin Droy’s ac- 
quaintance, and when, after inspecting the horses at Dick’s, 
Droy invited him to dine with him, Kingsley was gra- 
ciously pleased to accept. The dinner over, Mrs. Coles- 
toun’s astute ally returned to his own abode with one or 
two newly-formed but very definite opinions. 


CHAPTER XV. 

AGNES OFFERS AN OPINION. 

The Corbett house — including Mrs. Sims and her 
daughter Jane — was taken, and at last one fine morning 
late in April moved into by our party. 

The house was in perfect order : its stillness was scarcely 
disturbed by the arrival of our party — so large its spaces 
— so many its bends and curves for the garnering of sound 
or silence. And Mrs. Reade’ s own voice sounded almost 
thin as she “gave audience” to her new staff in the room 
on the ground floor she had selected as her own special 
domain. 

The butler was an admirably trained man, with cre- 
dentials that no one in their right mind would question. 
He passed his ordeal quite understanding the situation on 
both sides, for — with the keenness for which commend 
me to people of Mr. John Mapes’s peculiar calling — he 
appreciated that while his new mistress was decidedly not 
altogether “ the real article, though she might think she 


AGNES OFFERS AN OPINION. 


53 


was,” she was by no means a person to be trifled with. 
Under his perfectly sedate and sufficiently deferential 
manner Mr. Mapes concealed a faculty for discernment. 

The footman was a nephew of his own. Introducing him 
to Mrs. Reade, Mr. Mapes mentioned this fact as though 
it amply covered the ground. 

“ I’m training him myself, ma’am,” he said, gravely. 
But down stairs he told thebidable youth to “look sharp 
and learn quickly.” 

With the ladies’ maid there was more anxiety, since 
she was an acquisition neither Mrs. Reade nor her daughter 
quite appreciated, except in so far as her being an outward 
token of their new estate — an evident necessity of fashion. 
It so chanced that the girl — or woman of seven or eight- 
and-twenty — had at one time lived with friends of Mrs. 
Colestoun’s, who considered her a treasure, and who 
yielded regretfully when the “ times ” forced them to 
curtail every needless expense. So the wheels of the 
new machinery, well-oiled, were set in working order. 
Mrs. Reade retired to her own room after ordering dinner 
with Sims’ assistance, feeling like a general who has been 
given a new command, and who, after reviewing his forces, 
awaits with eagerness, and yet with anxiety, the next “en- 
gagement.” She was a woman who disliked to waste any- 
thing, and time she had always considered a marketable 
commodity. However, she had various engines at work. 
Although Alicia Colestoun had not as yet reached that per- 
fectly clear understanding to which she was surely feeling 
her way, Mrs. Reade was quite satisfied that her new friend 
was attending to “ things ” systematically. Every step so 
far had not only been in the right direction, but with too 
clearly a definite purpose to be misunderstood. When 
the time for fuller confidences came, the preliminaries of 
their treaty would then be established. 


54 


A GIBBS ORDEAL. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MR. DROY MAKES HIMSELF AGREEABLE. 

The first dinner in the new house was something of an 
ordeal on all sides. But by maintaining a discreet silence 
during the greater part of the meal Mrs. Reade gave her 
new servants an impression that she was observing them 
closely, and so compelled their attention to be upon their 
work. Constance felt rather languid, having a cold, and 
Genevieve was merely spasmodic in her contributions to 
conversation. Her attention was rarely diverted from her 
wonderment as to who would call that evening with Mar- 
tin Droy, since she had requested him to “ bring one of 
their new friends along the next time he came. 5 ’ 

“ You’ll show off all the better yourself,” she had in- 
formed him, “so don’t be afraid.” 

Both girls were in the drawing-room an hour later, when, 
true to his word, Droy appeared, with Kenrick Kingsley 
in his wake, who had most obligingly piloted young Farns- 
worth, the blonde-haired youth they had met at Mrs. Cole- 
stoun’s, to the new abode of his “ Western friends,” as he 
already called them. 

Gen’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, and Constance gave 
a welcome scarcely less cordial. To Kingsley’s pleasantly- 
framed inquiries for her health, giving just the touch of 
peculiar solicitation which made it seem a matter much 
on his mind, Constance declared herself almost free from 
her slight indisposition. 

“ How do you like us in our new setting ?” she demanded 
of her companion, as they moved leisurely down the long 
room. “ Do we look very glaring,” she w r ent on, “ with 
such a background, I wonder. ” She lifted her arm and 


MB. DROY MAKES IIIMSELF AGREEABLE . 55 


let the fingers of her hand rest lightly on a dusky picture 
in a rich Venetian frame. “ Does this seem sacrilege?” 
she observed. u Does my untutored touch , I wonder, pro- 
fane this canvas?” 

Kingsley gazed admiringly upon the exquisitely-rounded 
wrist and bit of arm revealed as the laces in her sleeve fell 
back ; at the hand, too perfect in its curves to need any 
criticism. 

“ It gives another picture, that is all,” he said, with no 
effort in the compliment. “ In a short time,” he added, as 
Constance, vexed with herself, let her hand fall quickly, 
“you will find yourself fitting into the Corbett setting as 
though you belonged here. Mrs. Reade objected the other 
day to certain shabbiness here and there in the house, but 
I begged her to regard it as a hall-mark of aristocracy.” 

“ Yes,” said Constance, quizzically, “ that reflection will 
be a source of comfort more than once, I fancy. We may 
ourselves mellow after a time, unless,” she added, “ Mr. 
Droy keeps the gloss in order. I can’t fancy his ever 
showing signs of wear or — ” 

“Mellowness?” sugggested Kingsley. “Hardly.” He 
glanced toward the window in which Genevieve was talk- 
ing to Mr. Farnsworth. 

“ That’s rather a nice sort of boy,” he said, after a mo- 
ment’s silence. “ Very young just now, but he looks as if 
a good mother had had a word or two in his bringing up.” 
Then, after a pause, “ Shall w T e say next Monday for our 
ride? By the way, how do you generally pass your Sun- 
days?” 

Constance turned from her contemplation of the absorbed 
youth in the window with so evident a start of surprise 
that Kenrick almost apologized. Kingsley’s inquiry had 
set a new line of thought to working. She realized how 
very easily she had altered last week all the accustomed 
routine of so many happy, peaceful Sundays in the past. 
How easy it had seemed to yield to Genevieve’s decision 


56 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


against any church going “ all by themselves,” and how 
very long and idle and merely recreative the day had 
been ! 

u It is hardly what I generally do,” she said quickly, and 
in as penitent a tone as though confessing a grave fault. 
“ I know very well what I ought to do, and what I mean 
to do. Just now, I ? m not sure quite where to find my 
church.” 

The suggestion which had prompted Kingsley’s inquiry 
was laid £side ; with his perfect tact and in his most sym- 
pathetic tone he said, calmly : 

“ Nearly all the churches, I fancy, would interest you; 
but I suppose you will soon be having sittings of your 
own. And perhaps, meantime, I can be useful as an 
escort.” 

Constance’s self-rebuke seemed to find an echo in his 
way of speaking, but she felt uncertain whether Mr. Kings- 
ley was a particularly devout man, or one even who would 
be a congenial companion in a place of worship. Religion 
with Constance was a very deep, abiding, peaceful reality. 
She brought to its practice the purest, holiest and sweetest 
of her maiden thoughts. She sought her Maker in the 
sanctuary of her inmost heart, as in the temples dedicated 
to His worship, and gave Him with every prayer directed 
to His majesty the love His human heart required. But 
to discuss her feelings in idle moments like these was as 
impossible as to analyze the moon or the starlight visible 
beyond the window in which they were standing. She 
had almost forgotten Kingsley’s presence, while her eyes, 
unconsciously averted from his very searching gaze, rested 
on the square of garden walled in below them. She wished 
she had not “ drifted ” so easily with this new tide of mere 
self-indulgence, and resolved to be stronger in certain ways 
in the immediate future. 

“ Well,” said Kingsley finally, and with that very caress- 
ing smile and tone Constance was beginning to find so 


MR. DROY MAKES HIMSELF AGREEABLE. 57 


agreeable, “what has set you off into such a reverie? 
You look, Miss Reade, standing there with just enough of 
the moonlight about you, as though you were posing for 
some saint of olden time.” 

But Constance was not, it would seem, to be won this 
evening by mere compliment. 

“ Come,” she said, moving away. “ It is too bad to let 
the moonlight be so at fault. I wonder what is keeping 
Mr. Droy ? He and Mrs. Reade must be very deep in busi- 
ness, one would fancy.” 

But across the hall, in the room that Mrs. Reade had 
chosen for her own private sanctum, Droy and his hostess 
were already exchanging a conventional good-night after 
a brief but plain-spoken discussion of certain “points” 
in their mutual business affairs. 

“ I suppose,” he said, at last, “ you have your own idea 
in all this ” — he glanced around the room — “ this kind of 
thing; I hope you’ll enjoy it.” 

“I always enjoy my own way,” she answered, calmly. 
“And, Droy, I intend you to enjoy it, too,” she went on, 
with a smile. “We may just as well take pleasure with 
the profit.” 

“Oh, I don’t care,” said Droy, vaguely. “When will 
Reade be along?” he added, in a different tone. 

“Almost any moment, now — or rather, an}' week. As I 
told you,” she went on, reverting to a subject mentioned 
earlier in their conversation, “I shall not hesitate to make 
use of Mrs. Colestoun’s superior — well, knowledge of soci- 
ety here. She is willing to help me — she is not a fool — I 
am not afraid to — ” 

“Strike a bargain, eh?” said Droy, with his shrewd smile, 
“ for that is precisely what it will come to ; and if I were 
in your place, Mrs. Reade, I’d meet her on her own ground. 
No shilly-shallying or making believe you don’t see her 
hand as plainly as your own. I’d make it business from 
the word go. See? There’s only one thing to consider” — 


58 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


he paused and thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, a 
frown on his dark, handsome face for the instant. 

“ Well? Go on, Martin — do.” 

“ Why, Miss Reade — Constance ! She’ll never put up with 
any place — well, bought and paid for, so to speak — in any 
circle on earth.” 

It was his companion’s turn to frown now, and she did 
it with an air of contempt as well as annoyance. “Con- 
stance!” she exclaimed. “Do you suppose I intend to 
let her interfere with me? Did I, when I married her 
father? I was not afraid of her then f and I am certainly 
not afraid of her now /” 

But in spite of this very clearly-uttered statement, Mrs. 
Reade, when left alone, pondered over Droy’s words in 
anxious reflection for nearly half an hour. Whatever 
methods she and Genevieve might employ to attain the 
end for which she had striven so long and with such heroic 
fortitude in her labor, Mrs. Reade well knew Constance as 
an ally could only be secured when the means were open 
as the day. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

LARRY ASKS A QUESTION. 

Constance, if put upon her honor in those days, would 
have found it exceedingly difficult either to analyze her 
feelings or define precisely how the new mode of life 
affected her. Yet she was conscious of much that was 
distinctly pleasant, if not even exciting. So far no one 
interfered with her receiving and accepting all the atten- 
tions offered by their new friends, and of which Gene- 
vieve had her own unstinted share. 

To have made the slightest distinction between the girls 
would not in any way have suited Mrs. Reade’s scheme 


LARRY ASKS A QUESTION . 


59 


of action. Genevieve needed Constance as a sort of foil to 
her own charm of look and manner ; there was too much 
dissimilarity between the step-sisters to have them clash — 
too much youthful good nature to have them dispute over 
anything important ; and if Genevieve, in a general sort 
of way, was somewhat jealous of Constance, at least she 
did not “ begrudge ” her the attentions of the older, graver 
members of their new circle. The “ boys,’ \ as she called 
them, whom they knew, quite satisfied her for the present. 
The girls were soon provided with excellent saddle-horses, 
and no one after the first ride questioned their skill. Con- 
stance had a far better seat, rode with a finer air and 
grace of bearing than Genevieve ever could acquire ; but 
the latter had a dash, an aplomb , a daring sort of eques- 
trianism which, if it now and again made the onlooker 
breathless, was not without its full meed of approval, and 
she looked unusually well in her habit ; the small hat with 
its peaked brim she had chosen set off her rather auda- 
cious prettiness, and attracted almost as much attention 
on the road as did the finer, fairer quality which gave 
Constance distinction. Besides the daily rides there were 
walks on the “ avenue,” where, even if the girls set out 
alone, they were sure to be joined by some one before 
long, so numerous already were their new “ friends.” The 
Farnsworth girls and their brother were by this time quite 
on their list, and ready enough to join them in any out- 
ing. Captain Dayton and Mr. Brent lent the prestige of 
their society ; Kingsley, although always holding himself 
and his society sufficiently in check to be important, was 
frequently on hand ; while Droy, who puzzled Constance 
and occupied her mind more than she cared to admit, 
kept his place easily as the favored “ child of the house,” 
coming and going as he liked, and, while still employed 
in some mysterious fashion on “ business ” for Mrs. Reade, 
referred from time to time to his own “ affairs ” and the 
chances of a departure sooner or later from their midst 


60 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


with just sufficient emphasis to make Constance wonder 
whether he himself regretted the stern necessity, and as 
well whether she would not find his absence rather a loss 
to her own everyday life. Whatever the nature of Mrs. 
Colestoun’s unwritten bond with Mrs. Reade, certain it is 
that the latter had no cause of complaint in the manner 
of fulfilment. Late as it was in the season, a number of 
Mrs. Colestoun’s acquaintances found an opportunity to 
call on her u friends from the West,” who had “ rented the 
Corbett house until something better further up-town was 
to be found.” 

This was the little formula with which Alicia Cole- 
stoun generally referred to the Reades, and gradually it 
became an understood thing that she was to keep her eyes 
open for that other establishment in which the genuine 
campaign of next season should be inaugurated. 

Never had her social plans worked with such complete 
and satisfactory results. Mrs. Colestoun actually won- 
dered how she had ever dreaded this very pliable party. 
Only to Kenrick Kingsley did she ever express any fears 
for the future, but as they were wholly mercenary, Ken- 
rick could dispel them with a breath. Fortunately, as she 
reflected, her husband never interfered with her. He w T as 
never in the least afraid of her disgracing him ; and apart 
from that, alas ! he did not care. Once, by chance, meet- 
ing Constance in the hall as she was leaving, he had 
troubled himself to talk to the girl for ten minutes or so, 
after which he asked his wife what the dickens she was up 
to with that fine girl, Miss Reade? He had met her, of 
course, before, but very casually — his own home being the 
last place in which poor Tom Colestoun spent his time — 
but it so happened he had exchanged but a few words 
with the young girl until this chance encounter. Con- 
stance was coming down the stairs after leaving a note on 
Mrs. Colestoun’s drawing-room table about some of their 
many engagements as the master of the house let himself 


LARRY ASKS A QUESTION. 


61 


in. She was looking bright and happy, unusually fair 
and girlish, in a simple dark out-of-door garb, with one 
deep red rose in her button-hole, and Colestoun looked at 
her with a shake of his head. He seemed in some way 
to see ahead ten years, when the glamour should be gone 
from the girl’s young vision, the lightness and freedom 
from her step. 

“How do you do, my dear?” he said, in his gruff but 
kindly voice. “ When I look at you I can believe the 
nonsense they talk about being young. When is your 
father coming?” he went on, detaining Constance — not at 
all against her will. In spite of what she had readily seen 
of the Colestouns’ indifference to each other, Constance 
really liked the gruff, seldom-to-be-seen master of the pretty 
home. He had a pair of very kind eyes, she thought, 
under his shaggy brows, and there was something hard 
to define, which appealed to her as pathetic, in his isolated 
home-life. 

“ My father,” said Constance, “ may come very soon — 
any moment.” 

“ I mean to see him when he comes,” said Mr. Cole- 
stoun. “Well, my dear, keep young and bright and 
happy, but don’t you believe all the stuff fools tell you 
nowadays. I did once,” he added, with his gruff laugh 
and a wag of his head. “ You’d better believe I did, but 
not any more. Oh, dear, no!” 

And Constance laughed, too, as Mr. Colestoun held the 
door open for her. But somehow she went away liking 
the man she had been half afraid of, and feeling a pro- 
found compassion for him. Oh, how terrible it must be, 
thought the girl, to live together as they did — the Cole- 
stouns, man and wife — bound by the closest tie earth or 
Heaven can form or rivet, yet so hopelessly asunder ! 

It was a bright day, but Constance, who, truth to tell, 
was a little weary temporarily of their ceaseless activity, 
had excused herself from going to Mrs. Breckton Law* 


62 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


rence’s luncheon with Mrs. Reade and her daughter. She 
enjoyed the freedom their absence gave her. Her solitude 
was by no means unwelcome, and she prolonged her walk 
until she remembered that that very punctilious person, 
Mr. Mapes, would be awaiting her return. This quickened 
her steps, bringing her in a few moments to their own 
door, which was no sooner opened than some one darted 
out of the reception-room, her name was pronounced in 
delightfully familiar accents, and Larry Coleman nearly 
wrung her hand off. 

“ Oh, Larry ! You dear old Larry ! How glad I am !” 
Constance could only look her delight for the next minute; 
and then a joyful barking was heard, and she recognized 
“ Keon,” Larry’s own particular collie, who had been her 
stanchest friend. 

“ Yes,” said Larry, as she led the way, with Keon fol- 
lowing closely, into the reception-room, “ I had to bring 
the little beggar with me ; and I fancied you might like 
him yourself down here, Con.” 

“ Like him ! Oh, Larry, can you spare him ? How good 
of you !” Constance was ready to say much more, when 
Mapes appeared, announcing luncheon ; and, greatly 
pleased at the chance of a long tete-a-tete, Constance laid 
aside her hat and coat, leading the way to the dining- 
room, and watching Larry almost as though she feared 
her eyes had deceived her. It was too pleasant to really 
have him there ! 

As soon as possible, Constance let the butler understand 
they required no further service. Larry had done ample 
justice to the very good viands before him, and explained 
he had come to town entirely on business for his father. 
But he added that he was also going to do a little stroke 
on his own account. “ The fact is, Con,” Larry said, as 
$oon as they were alone, “ things are not going at all well 
for my father. That Brazilian matter has very nearly 
crippled him. There is nothing for it but to let me start 


LARRY ASKS A QUESTION. 


63 


out and work at once at whatever I can get. It will be 
all the governor can do, I verily believe, to keep the rest 
of the house together. You know what he is; and to see 
him quietly cutting down every bit of expense in every- 
thing for himself he possibly can is more than I can bear.” 

“ Oh, Larry, of course not !” exclaimed Constance. “ Oh, 
if only my father were at home !” 

“ Well, for your sake I wish he was,” said Larry. “ But 
I don’t see how it would help the governor particularly. 
He’ll just have to try to weather it through, I suppose, 
only I hate to see that worried look in his eyes. Well ” — 
he broke off, glancing around the drawing-room, into 
which Constance had led the way — “ so here you are fixed 
as a fine young lady of fashion, eh ? Clare gave me a list 
of questions as long as my arm to ask you,” he added. 

“Oh, Larry,” exclaimed Constance, “don't talk nonsense! 
I’m not a young lady of fashion ! and yet I declare we are 
kept rather busy ; in fact I should have missed this pleas- 
ure with you but that I begged off from a very swell lunch- 
eon Mrs. Reade and Genevieve have gone to. How sorry 
I would have been !” 

“ You don’t look so very well,” said her old comrade with 
a frown ; “ I don’t mean that you look ill — but tired, or, 
what is it?” 

Constance looked up with a faint smile and a shake of 
her head. 

“ It is — well, I suppose a little overstrain of things in 
general,” she admitted. “ To begin with in some fashion^ 
we all appear to be on our mettle, as it were. Oh, we are 
very clever and entertaining at times, I assure you!” Her 
lip curled slightly. “ I have an idea that in the course 
of time I may be almost brilliant. Occasionally I find 
myself saying something which really sounds amusing !” 
she sighed. 

“ Con,” said Larry, quietly, “ I believe you need the old 
home-garden.for a day or two.” 


64 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


“Do I?” The girl’s dark blue eyes, under their soft, curl- 
ing lashes, were raised now, and he saw that tears stood in 
them. “ No, Larry, not in the way you mean, my dear. 
The fact is, I am rather blue to-day. I don’t know quite 
what it is. I had a bad cold last week,” she continued, 
determined Larry should not suffer by her low spirits, 
“ and I believe the quinine I did take, or possibly didn't 
take, accounts for my grumpiness! But come, what were 
your questions?” 

“ They are all answered,” said Larry, gravely. “ Con,” 
he went on, presently, “ I’m going West, you know, very 
soon, and I someway feel as if, before I return, things may 
be very different all around. You will, perhaps, have 
found wings to fly far away — beyond all my power to even 
see your course — and at home — all I will ask now is this : 
Keep us in mind; write to me; tell me at any time when 
and how I can serve you. I don’t know how it is, Con,” 
he added, “but I feel, somehow, as if you might need help.” 

“And if I do, Larry,” exclaimed Constance, eagerly, and 
stretching out her hand, “do not fear I shall forget this 
moment ! No, indeed ! My friends are not so many — 
and you — you and your dear father and Clare — were my 
first — my best. I shall remember this as a compact — a 
promise — and it will help me even to think of it.” 

A quick step on the stairs, the rustle of drapery, some 
one asking for her by name, interrupted the conference, 
and the next moment Genevieve and Droy came into the 
room together. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“i HATE THE WORD.” 

The shrewd, dark eyes of Miss Genevieve Henderson 
were not long in making an inventory of Constance’s 
guest, who, although “ from the country,” impressed her as 


11 1 HATE THE WORD” 


65 


quite worth some of her best efforts at entertainment; and 
Larry, who was never known to be indifferent to a 
pretty girl, was very soon chatting away quite gayly with 
Con’s “ new step-sister,” as they called her at home, decid- 
ing she was “ no end of fun really quite pretty in her own 
way, which never, of course, could be Con’s, yet had a 
sparkle and vivacity which, until it grew wearisome, was 
very effective and “ taking.” 

Droy drew near to Constance and said, in a pleasant un- 
dertone, “So you have your old comrade down here,” but 
emphasized the expression by a glance that looked as 
though he felt his own rights somewhat infringed. 

“ Yes, and I am delighted,” said Con ; “ and look who 
he has brought. Keon !” she called in a soft but full tone 
the collie knew quite well, “come here, old fellow;” and 
as Keon emerged from a hiding-place back of the lounge 
Droy spoke with admiration of his fine points, putting 
out a hand to welcome him which the dog did not resent; 
on the contrary, he drew near, looking up at the young 
man, quite ready to make acquaintance. 

“ The best friend I ever had was a dog like this,” said 
Droy, with his hand still on Keon’s neck. “ During my 
lonely wdnter up North he was all the family tie I knew.” 

“ Where is he now?” Con liked Droy’s personalities — 
bits of reminiscence or biography. They were, generally 
speaking, picturesque. 

“ Old Dixon?” said Droy. “ Poor fellow! under an icy 
grave, away up in the hills. Well, I must be off, Miss 
Reade. Is — your friend — Mr. Coleman, to remain long?” 

“Larry? I am not sure — I w T ish he could.” 

“ Mr. Coleman is going with us to the theatre to night,” 
announced Genevieve, who, in spite of her devotion to 
Larry, contrived to hear what was going on across the 
room. “You know, Constance, you said this morning 
nothing would tempt you out to-night, so we can give 
Mr. Coleman your place as well as not.” 

5 


66 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Larry, promising to return for the evening, had departed, 
Droy bearing him company. The girls stood alone to- 
gether for a few moments, each following a different train 
of thought, although the same persons occupied their 
attention. 

“How handsome Mr. Coleman is!” said Genevieve, 
presently. “ Of course he is only a boy, but he is so tall 
and manly one forgets that. I guess you and he had your 
own flirtations / 7 

“No!” said Constance, suddenly, and in so unusually 
determined a voice that Genevieve gave a little jump. 
“I beg your pardon, -Gen,” she added, with a laugh, 
“did I frighten you? but the mere idea seemed — well — 
worse than ridiculous. Larry was— I was, at least, just 
like one of themselves. Flirtation !” Con’s lip curled, 
and she drew her head up with a gesture which her step- 
sister had seen before; “do you suppose one can’t be good 
friends with a boy or a man without flirting? I hate the 
word, and I detest the idea; it is vulgar.” And Constance, not 
wishing to prolong the subject, walked rather majestically 
out of the room, Keon following, although by no means 
certain just where he was or whether he would be at 
home in his new quarters. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AT LAST. 

The theatre party had taken their leave, and Constance, 
by no mejms averse to an evening alone, seated herself, 
with a book which Mr. Kingsley had loaned her, in the 
most comfortable chair in the library, where “ Mr. Mapes’ 
young man,” as she laughingly called the footman, to 
Martin Droy, had lighted the lamp on the centre-table, 
and made quite an effective little stirring about, as though 


AT LAST. 


67 


to promote her solitary comfort. The book was a new 
novel of the day; Constance enjoyed it, yet her mind 
would wander. She felt in some odd fashion, so she told 
herself, like a character in a play — they were all saying 
their parts — just now she was not before the footlights, so 
there was a chance to rehearse her speeches, to recall re- 
cent scenes, to think of what had been noteworthy of ap- 
plause. Did Martin Droy, she wondered, go over his? or 
were they all — as they seemed to be — spontaneous, natu- 
ral, the result only of interest or feeling ? Mr. Colestoun 
was very charming ; more than that, highly entertaining ; 
but Constance felt very certain he kept a little book of her 
cues and speeches somewhere. And Kenrick Kingsley? 
He was to the manner born ; he was acting, perhaps, and 
yet not quite so consciously. Martin — Mr. Droy— had 
moments, though, she was very certain, when he needed 
neither book, cue, nor prompter. He was assuredly at 
times sincerely, wholly himself, for no book nor stage 
directions could be given for his rapid change of color ; 
the light that she had seen spring into his eyes ; the in- 
voluntary — yes, she was sure of it— difference in his tone 
when he said certain things — apart — meant only for her 
to hear. Why, why was it that, if she accepted all this as 
fact which she desired should not alter — at least not yet — 
should there still be an indefinable, infinitesimal feeling 
of doubt, almost of distrust, governing her most unreluc- 
tant mood ? 

“ The fault is with myself,” thought Constance ; “ it is 
as dear old Mrs. Ord used to say — I exact, expect, too 
much — if I expect at all. Oh, how much I w r ould give to 
see her this moment !” 

Constance started to her feet and put down her book, de- 
termined suddenly to begin a long letter to her old goverr 
ness and friend, from whom she had not heard in nearly 
three weeks; but the writing-materials were scarcely found 
and laid below the tali library lamp when she heard Henry's 


68 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


step along the hall, then the front door was opened, a voice 
sounded — reached her ears — and sent the blood coursing 
wildly through her veins. Constance could neither move 
nor speak ; but a moment later a step, too dearly familiar 
to be mistaken, came quickly up the stairs, the door was 
opened, and Constance, with a little cry, half joy, half 
terror, in the shock of surprise, had rushed forward and 
was clasped tightly in her father's arms. 


CHAPTER XX. 

“do you forgive me?” 

For an instant neither father nor daughter could speak, 
and if Mr. Reade was conscious that his child’s heart was 
beating wildly as he held her closely to him, his own was 
moving to a measure scarcely less tumultuous, for indeed 
this was the supreme moment he had looked forward to — 
this the hour, keen, shrewd man of the world that he 
might be, which Mark Reade had feared the most. He 
knew how the others would receive him, but how Con- 
stance would greet him, what he would find in her eyes 
when she received him in his wife’s house, he had some- 
times hardly liked to think. But this first embrace at 
least seemed to restore to him the child of his widowed 
but tranquilly happy years before any thought of wealth 
had come in his way, any dread of utter poverty. 

“ My darling little girl !” he said, fondly, when at last, 
between tears and laughter, Constance had found her 
voice and he was seated in the chair she had recently oc- 
cupied before the fire, his daughter kneeling at his side; 
“ you did not expect me, it seems. The man below told 
me my telegram was not delivered yet — and you are all 
alone.” 

“ Oh, papa dearest, I am so glad !” exclaimed Constance, 


“DO YOU FORGIVE ME /” 


69 


quite unconscious of what she was betraying. “ Dearest, 
do tell me. How did it happen?” She laid her cheek in 
her old fashion down against his shoulder, her arm stray- 
ing about his neck. Readers face above the fair young 
head he had so often pillowed thus darkened sadly. Alas ! 
were such hours as these now to be too few, too precious 
from their being almost snatched from others full of 
duties, ties, employments which his marriage had created? 
Yes, that such would be the case Reade was so well aware 
that even now he dared not allow himself the luxury of 
idle talk over bis coming — his journey — what had hap- 
pened, what she would have to tell of her own little joys 
and woes. He must seize the chance this evening gave 
him, when he could be sure of at least two hours alone 
with his child. 

“Con, my darling,” he said, rising and moving about 
the room, while Constance resumed her seat, “ I am glad 
— I consider it fortunate I found you alone.” 

“Oh, yes, dear,” said Constance, fervently. “Isn’t it 
lovely ! They’re gone to the theatre. We have the whole 
evening, for I know they are going to supper. Oh !” — she 
made another rush at her father, nearly choking him in a 
fresh embrace — “ you perfect darling ! I can't believe I 
have you !” 

“ But, Con,” said Mr. Reade, by no means in as steady 
a voice as he would have liked her to hear, “ we must 
make the most of our time, for well } r ou know I will 
have many things to do and people to see at once, 
and we can’t have many more evenings like this in a 
hurry.” 

“ No, I know, dearest,” assented Constance. “ I know — 
you’re my right papa, dear. We may as well make up our 
minds that we can never count on half an hour of our time 
quite free. See,” she drew him to a small sofa in the win- 
dow ; “now we can sit here and you can tell me every- 
thing.” 


70 


A GIBUS OBDEAL. 


“ It seems to me,” he said, smiling half sadly, “ / have 
very little to tell, Con. It is you — you who must tell me 
how things are going. Constance,” he exclaimed, sud- 
denly, “ do you forgive my marriage?” 

The color flamed into the girl’s face and died away 
before she trusted herself to answer. 

“You had a right,” she said, in a low tone, “a perfect 
right, of course, to please yourself. Dr. Coleman, Clare — 
they all said so. Of course, papa, I never deceived you. 
I don’t deny it was hard to bear, particularly at first; and 
lately I have felt — have feared — that perhaps Mrs. Reade 
considered me — well, as if I was costing a great deal. You 
will make it all right now, I know ; and I do my best — I 
try honestly, I try hard, for your sake — to like them.” 

“ Constance!” her father’s voice reached her in tones 
deep with feeling, strong with the purpose which urged 
him now to be frank, open, and wholly confidential with 
his child. She deserved it. Had she not bravely enough 
done her part? “ Listen to me, dear. It is best that from 
the very first we — you and I — should understand each 
other. When I married Mrs. Henderson I was, or be- 
lieved I was, all but a ruined man. It is hard to tell your 
young ears so bald a story of a merely worldly transac- 
tion; but before God, Constance, it was of you, of your 
future, dearest, I was thinking far more than of my own 
when I considered the very serious step of asking her to 
be my wife. She had been very kind. She had nursed 
me through a serious illness; she knew that I had al- 
most nothing left after my last venture in Little Purchase, 
and she — well, I knew she was perfectly willing to marry 
me as I stood. She knew all about you — I told her, at 
least, so far as I could, what my ambition was for you, 
and I pledged myself to do as well by her daughter as she 
would ever do by mine. You see there was no romance in 
it.” A strange look crossed Mark Reade’s thin, still hand- 
some, scholarly face. He remembered the day when all 


“DO YOU FORGIVE ME?” 


71 


his soul, his heart, his whole being had thrilled but to 
one purpose, one romance — that which began and ended 
with the mother of his child, now lying in her grave — and 
he forced himself to go on, hurriedly. “ We never, either 
of us, thought of such a thing. She accepted my offer, I 
hers, so to speak — that is, we joined forces ; and you know 
Mrs. Hen — Reade came East soon after. Well, then, Con- 
stance, you may as well know the worst, my poor child. I 
have come home a poorer man to-day than I was when I 
married her. Still I can make a new venture, but I 
thought it best to let you know it all at once. I stand 
here, in what I suppose people will call my house, as much 
my wife’s guest as you are.” 

For an instant Constance could not speak. Her feeling 
w r as one w'holly with and for her father, well aware 
that her step-mother must be amply able to maintain the 
establishment she had undertaken; yet something told the 
girl that Mrs. Reade was ignorant of her husband’s more 
recent failures. How would it fare with him, with them 
both, when all should be clearly understood ? 

“ Papa,’’ said the girl, in a timid but very gentle voice, 
“ I am sure you will very quickly make it all right ; and, 
after all, is she not your wife?” 

“ And you are happy ?” Mr. Reade’s tone was infin- 
itely tender, infinitely mournful. 

“I cannot be,” said Constance, drawing still nearer 
and laying her hand again on his shoulder, “ if I see you 
miserable over anything. There, can’t we forget for a 
little while that we are not just as we were by our two 
selves? Oh, papa!” the girl exclaimed, wistfully, “you 
can never, never think how often, lately, I have longed for 
you ; how many times I have said to myself, when no 
one could guess or dream what I was thinking of, ‘ Never 
mind ; soon papa will surely be here and now that you 
are , I can’t care or think or mind about anything else.” 


72 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


CHAPTER XXI. 

MR. DROY IS REFLECTIVE. 

Long and freely did father and child converse together. 
Instinctively they avoided the only subject that could be 
painful, and Mr. Reade sketched for Constance all that 
had occurred in other ways since they parted, assuring her 
at last that although he had called himself Mrs. Reade’s 
guest, he had not meant it to be taken quite literally. 

u And, my darling,” he added, “ if certain things I have 
^ on hand now turn out as well as I have every reason to 
hope, I will see that you have something assured to be 
exclusively your own.” 

The moments, hours, flew by. It seemed scarcely any 
time since they had begun their talk, when the return of 
Mrs. Reade’s party made Constance and her father start 
like conspirators and face each other with a decided 
change of expression. 

Mapes had of course announced the master’s return. 
The entire party came in, evidencing each in his or her 
own peculiar way that they had been told who was up- 
stairs, and Reade was glad of the confusion and excitement 
in which to cover up his own greeting of Mrs. Reade and 
her daughter. How changed, thought Constance, her father 
appeared within five minutes of their coming! It was as 
though a mask had settled on his features, although no 
one could have been pleasanter in manner. And then 
Droy, who was hovering near Constance, yet watchful of 
everything that was going on, made a surprising discovery. 
It silenced, as it baffled him, and it sent him home to 
ponder, as he walked along the quiet moonlit streets of the 
city, more deeply than ever before on the curious work- 
ings of the human mind. 


“ YO U ARE SPENDING YO UR 0 WN MONEY ” 73 


“ I never thought of this solution of the marriage for an 
instant,” Droy reflected. “ I, of all men on earth, ought to 
know there are some feelings we can never fathom ; but 
it never, until this blessed night, occurred to me that 
Retta Henderson married Reade because she was in love 
with him ! I don’t suppose he cares for one beat her heart 
has to give him I Well, well ; it’s a curious world !” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“you are spending your own money.” 

By the time the strangely assorted although reunited 
family assembled the next morning at breakfast it was 
clearly evident that Mr. and Mrs. Reade had exchanged 
certain confidences — come to certain conclusions. 

Constance, who had armed herself with all the patience 
at her command, found her step-mother singularly cordial. 
Her father was in good spirits. Genevieve alone appeared 
to be in a doubtful frame of mind ; evidently not entirely 
pleased by what seemed to be the harmony existing be- 
tween her mother and Mr. Reade, yet not at all sure just 
what it was she ought or had a right to resent. Her 
mother’s amiability annoyed her. 

“ Come, Constance,” Genevieve said, directly breakfast 
was over, “ what can we do with ourselves? Would you 
like a walk ? When will Droy be here?” she added, sharply. 

Mr. Reade, who had appeared engrossed in the Herald f 
looked up now with some surprise. 

“Is Mr. Droy — a regular — morning visitor?” he in- 
quired, half smiling. 

“He generally show's up every day,” said Genevieve, 
carelessly. “ I wanted to see him particularly this morn- 
ing,” she added, glad to have roused her step-father’s at- 


74 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


tention, no matter for what reason. “ Maybe, though, he 
won’t come until later. Come on, Constance. Let’s find 
that dog of yours.” 

“ Shall you be going down town right away ?” inquired 
Mrs. Reade, as soon as they were gone. If not — ” 

“ Well ?” He tried to smile pleasantly — at least he looked 
at her with entire attention ; and Mrs. Reade continued, 
hurriedly, “ I wrote you, Mark, about that house up-town. 
If I take it right now I’ll strike a bargain — there’s very 
little left to do to finish it; but of course you ought to see 
it first.” 

“As you like — I will be ready in an hour.” 

The next hour passed in some letter-writing and various 
calculations on bits of paper on his desk, the marble house 
and the expedition thereto having quite faded from his 
mind, when Mrs. Reade appeared, ready dressed, to tell 
him the carriage was at the door. He swept his papers 
into his desk, locked it, and rose with his accustomed air 
of well-bred politeness. He was well aware that Mrs. 
Reade’s “generosity” demanded some equivalent, and 
having seen her comfortably seated in the little violet- 
scented coupe he took his place at her side, ready and will- 
ing to listen to all she had to say of their future establish- 
ment. 

“And you can see for yourself, Mark,” she said, finally, 
“ I’ve fixed Constance out nicely. Her clothes cost me a 
cool three hundred dollars ; and there’s the .keep of the 
horse, and all that.” 

“ You have been very kind,” said Reade, quietly. “The 
girls are both looking well. Do they — are they friendly ?” 
he added. 

“ Oh, I never see much amiss. You know they’re differ- 
ent Gen’s so full of life and fun she can’t be very digni- 
fied to save her! Oh, yes. They seem to get on,” said 
Mrs. Reade, and no further personalities were indulged in 
until the new mansion was reached. 


“YOU ARE SPENDING YOUR OWN MONEY . 11 75 

Standing within its superb entrance-hall, going slowly 
up a staircase which might have fitly borne the tread of 
kings and princes of the blood-royal, moving about the 
rooms, Mark Reade could not but feel the potent charm 
of the wealth which could achieve and own all this. What 
though the woman at his side had her own inferiority, her 
own kind of insignificance, she had yet her power in the 
right to take all this to herself — to choose this for her 
home — these superb rooms for her dwelling-place. And 
he liked it — thoroughly — in his own way. But he would 
have given much to have entered here as master. 

“ It is certainly a magnificent place, Retta,” he said, 
looking at her as she stood some distance down one of 
the large reception-rooms. “If you want grandeur in 
your house, certainly you ought to be satisfied here. This 
place looks built for royalty.’ ’ 

A gleam of genuine pleasure was in the glance Mrs. 
Reade turned towards her husband. 

“That’s so, Mark, every word of it,” she said, gravely. 
“ I guess when we get moved in here there won’t be many 
that’ll get ahead of us. I don’t care what I spend. I 
mean it shall be,” she drew nearer and laid her hand on 
her husband’s arm, “ it shall be the finest place in all New 
York. Mark, no one but’ll say I came out ahead this 
time !” 

He laughed. “ Well, you’re spending your own money,” 
he observed. “ But have you the least idea, Retta, how 
much it will take ?” 

She swept the great room with a scornful glance. “ I 
guess I don’t care,” she said, moving down towards the 
staircase ; “ I’ll just let them go ahead.” 


76 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“it is all gone — lost!” 

The stormy day which followed did not prevent Mrs. 
Reade making every possible arrangement for the pur- 
chase of the new house up town. In a short time they 
were to make a trip to Lakewood, Gresham, or some other 
resort of fashion near New York, and Mrs. Colestoun, who 
no longer veiled her advice to the Reades, was very definite 
in saying they ought to be able to mention the new place 
as the one in which they were to reside next season. Few 
people would be courageous enough not to desire the ac- 
quaintance of a woman who had bought such a magnifi- 
cent dwelling in which to live and “do her duty” by 
society ; and accordingly, after a brief conference with her 
husband, Mrs. Reade set forth, arranging to meet him later 
in the day at Blount’s office, where all the details of the 
purchase could be settled. 

Droy had obligingly escorted Genevieve to some place 
she had desired, in spite of the rain, to visit; and Con- 
stance, with only Keon for company, was reading in the 
library, when quick steps below roused her. She started 
to her feet, fancying that a moment since she had heard 
a fall, and she was at the door of the room before Henry, 
the footman, appeared, his young face all drawn out of its 
usual stolidity by his efforts at composure. 

“Oh, ma’am! oh, Miss Reade!” was all he could say. 
“ Whatever shall we do ? Will you come at once ? Mas- 
ter’s took awful bad.” 

Constance, after the first instant of horror passed, and 
which had seemed to stifle all her energies, flew down the 
passage and staircase to her father’s room, the library or 


IT IS ALL GONE— LOST! 


77 


study he had reserved for his own use. All the servants 
were gathered there, and in their midst, when they had 
raised him up on a lounge, lay her father’s senseless form. 
Whether he was even living poor Constance doubted as 
she pressed forward, until Mrs. Sims, touching her arm, 
said: “Oh, Miss, it’s a faint or a fit — just that, and we've 
sent for a doctor.” 

Five minutes passed, of unendurable anguish to Con- 
stance, who could do nothing but hold her father’s poor, 
cold hand in both of her own. Then a neighboring physi- 
cian, a grave, clever-looking man, arrived, who speedily 
cleared the room of everyone but Mapes and Constance 
while he examined his patient, gave some hurried direc- 
tions, ordered a bed prepared, and announced in quiet, 
authoritative tones, that it' was a paralytic seizure. Had 
there been others? Dr. Knowlton inquired. No. Constance 
was sure if such had been the case she must have known 
of it. She explained her Step-mother’s absence, and in a 
very prompt, gentle way set about carrying out the strange 
doctor’s orders. Presently, in his own room, Mr. Reade’s 
eyes opened ; he revived, looked about him, but with a 
strange, questioning glance, which Constance answered at 
once. 

“You are not well, dear — you must keep quiet,” she 
said, very gently ; and then it was seen that the hand and 
arm she touched — that he tried to raise — were powerless! 
He spoke, however, took the stimulant administered, and 
turned his head upon the pillow as though to sleep. Half 
an hour passed, and then, the Doctor by her urgent en- 
treaty being still with them, Constance was relieved to 
hear Mrs. Reade, Martin and Genevieve all returning. 
Never before had their step been so welcome ; but it was 
Droy to whom she instinctively turned, whose eyes sought 
hers quickly as they entered. 

All cross-examination failed to enlighten anyone as to 
how “ it ” had happened. Mrs. Reade said she and her hus- 


78 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


band had simply arranged for the part payment required on 
the new house ; then he had left her, saying he had to meet 
a gentleman at the Astor House ; but even if he had gone 
there he could not have seen anyone, judging by the hour 
of his return. No immediate cause for the attack could 
be assigned. Mrs. Reade declared her husband had seemed 
well, and in unusually good spirits when they parted but 
a short time before. 

Dr. Knowlton suggested a skilled nurse, and Mrs. Reade 
begged that one might be procured at once. The physi- 
cian went away satisfied that his patient would have all 
the care that money could procure, although he regarded 
his recovery as doubtful. Certain symptoms in the case 
looked worse than he had admitted, but from what he had 
said, even Constance took scant courage. Every fibre in 
her heart seemed wrung with pain, and she determined, on 
her own responsibility, to beg of Dr. Coleman to visit 
them. He, if any one, she felt sure, could suggest relief. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Reade had determined to be alone for 
a time with her husband. She was anxious to seize upon 
his first moment of restored consciousness in which to 
find out if he had been transacting any business apart 
from that of which she knew and had suggested. Con- 
stance, bent on her own dispatch to Ambles worth, was 
soon gotten rid of; Mrs. Reade desired the others simply 
to leave her alone for a time; the door was closed, and 
Droy, outside, looked at Constance as though awaiting 
orders. She told him what she wanted, and was touched 
by his readiness to serve her. He made no task of it — 
said “ Certainly, he would wire at once,” only waiting 
long enough to beg she would not wear herself out. He 
would not go away ; there was nothing specially to do, 
but it was best to be on hand. Constance felt infinitely 
relieved and more grateful to Droy than she could ex- 
press. No brother could have been kinder, no friend 
more thoughtful; and the warm pressure of her still 


“IT IS ALL GONE— LOST /” 


79 


tremulous fingers told him something of what she was 
feeling, while Droy felt more than repaid for any trouble 
he had taken. This girl of Reade’s, he reflected, was 
something decidedly out of the common. She was one 
of whose friendship any man might be proud. 

The day wore itself away, as all such must, no matter 
how the hours are freighted with suffering, physical or 
mental. Only the stillness of the household told of what 
had occurred, for there was little to be done, and that 
little Mrs. Reade, even though the trained nurse sent for 
arrived, insisted upon doing herself, unaided. Just what 
she feared from her husband's speech, under the present 
state of things, it was impossible to tell, but she would 
run no risks. While his brain was clouded she dared not 
leave his side ; and with a fortitude worthy a better cause, 
which would have been beautiful had love only inspired 
it, Mark Reade’s wife took up her station at her hus- 
band’s bedside, to the admiration of the servants and the 
Doctor. Constance suspected no deeper motive than affec- 
tion, anxiety, possibly a jealous fear of others being the 
first to greet his returning consciousness ; but Droy had 
his own very definite opinion. If he had not been so 
preoccupied by thought of Constance under this great 
trial he would have studied the question more carefully. 
Even as it was, it made him prudent and watchful. 

Constance had not been aware of the great strain upon 
all her nerves, until at about nine o’clock that evening 
the rattle of a cab at the door told of Dr. Coleman’s arri- 
val. In an instant she was clasping his hand in both her 
own, looking almost as though she expected a verdict then 
and there ; but even as she greeted him she wondered what 
Mrs. Reade would say. 

“I can see him— as a friend, my dear, of course,” said 
the Doctor, as he stood in the reception-room, “but you 
know there is an etiquette in these cases. Who is your 
father’s physician — Knowlton ? Oh — as it happens, we 


80 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


are very good friends. When I have met your — Mrs. 
Reade, I’ll just step around to his office and consult.” 

Traces of intense anxiety, weariness, if not actual suffer- 
ing, were upon Mrs. Readers face, in her manner itself, 
when she came into the room, and Constance for the first 
time realized that she might, probably had , suffered as 
much, or nearly as much, over Mr. Reade’s seizure as 
she herself. Dr. Coleman’s visit, if it surprised, evidently 
did not annoy her. She told him in a low but clear 
voice, and without forgetting the smallest detail, just w T hat 
had taken place. It was precisely what Constance had 
heard before; but she lingered, watching her dear friend’s 
thin, wise face, as though to read his thoughts, to seize 
upon anything hopeful in his expression. It was hard 
to say if Mr. Reade was fully conscious when his old 
friend bent over him and spoke to him by name, but his 
recognition was clear enough. His eyes, and the way he 
strove to press his hand, proved that. When, after a talk 
with Dr. Knowlton, the Amblesworth physician returned, 
it was to take his place at his friend’s bedside, where, 
with the utmost patience, he watched for the next hour, 
occasionally ministering to the sick man's wants, finally 
persuading Constance to go to rest ; he and Martin Droy 
would remain with the sufferer. 

“ And you, Mrs. Reade,” said the Doctor, you are worn 
out; do go to bed ; I will call you if any change occurs.” 
But to this Mrs. Reade would not listen. 

“ I could not sleep — I could not rest,” she said, briefly, 
and resumed her place directly at her husband’s side. 

The night wore itself away, and morning broke upon 
the sick-room in which she only remained awake of the 
three who watched there. How she had endured the strain 
Reade’s wife could not have told, but her reward came at 
last. Towards daybreak his eyes opened, fixed themselves 
steadily upon her face as she bent above him. 

“ The letter !” He spoke thickly, but she caught at the 



“The paper she was looking for was found at last.” 













































* 


0 






I 





G RESHAM-IN- TI1E-PINES. 


81 


sound and said “ Yes/’ in a quick, low voice. “ My wallet 
— it is all gone— lost!” His eyes closed again, and Mrs. 
Reade remained a moment deep in thought— wracked with 
fears she dared not try to define. Then moving stealthily, 
as though she had not a wife’s right to be there, she passed 
into the dressing-room, and quickly, with nervous haste, 
sought among the papers in her husband’s coat-pocket — 
in the wallet he always carried. The paper she was look- 
ing for was found at last, and with some other memoranda 
safely locked away. If he recovered he would doubtless 
be grateful for her prudence ; if not, well, she would have 
time to think over what had best be done. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

GRESHAM - IN-T II E-PINES. 

“ And you say ” — Martin Droy was the speaker — a he 
can never be a really well man again ?” 

Dr. Coleman shook his head. 

“ I doubt if he lives the summer through ; still, he may 
hold on to life a little longer, for he has a fine constitution, 
and so far as I know has never tampered with his health ; 
but he can never again bear any great strain, that is cer- 
tain. At best he will be an invalid.” 

Droy was silent for a few moments. He occupied him- 
self, outwardly, in the study of the street below the win- 
dow in which they stood, but his real speculations were of 
a very different character. He was thinking of various 
business questions Reade’s helpless condition would affect, 
and, beyond that, of what it would mean to Constance. 

Ten days had gone by since the memorable one on 
which the present master of Mr. Corbett’s house had been 
so suddenly stricken down. Dr, Coleman had twice come 

G 


82 


A GIRL 1 S ORDEAL . 


and gone ; he and the physician attending the case had 
gone through various fluctuations of opinion as to what 
would be the final result, but both men decided now that 
Reade was a broken man whose days were numbered ; and, 
in spite of all that might be said to the contrary, Dr. Cole- 
man felt certain his old friend had received some shock di- 
rectly before the seizure. 

No light, however, could be thrown upon this by any- 
thing that had transpired. Mr. Reade’s present condition 
was one of passive weakness for the most part, and occa- 
sionally fits of irritability over his condition, making it 
harder for him to get well ; but at all times Mrs. Reade 
sought to soothe and distract his mind, it would appear. 
If there were no ulterior motive at work, even Droy had 
to admit that her conduct was simply beyond reproach. 

Change of air had been decided upon ; Lakewood was 
recommended. It needed only the completion of a few 
minor matters now to be ready for their change of abode. 
Mrs. Colestoun had been very kind, very useful; so also 
had Mr. Kingsley ; Martin Droy rarely left the house ; and 
it was at last settled that the family should leave on Mon- 
day for the “ Gresham-in-th e-Pines, ’’ where a suite of 
rooms had been secured. Mr. Mapes and Agnes Moore 
were to be in “ attendance.” 

During all preparations for their second flitting Con- 
stance alone seemed occupied only with thoughts of her 
father; but in a quiet, although forcible way, Mrs. Reade 
kept her as much out ot the sick-room as possible. All 
that she could do, therefore, was to keep herself in readiness 
for any service she could render beyond his threshold. To 
have contended with her step-mother might have annoyed 
the sick man, so in spite, often, of a bitterly-swelling heart, 
Constance bore with being, so to speak, put aside, kept 
from the place she felt hers by right, and which she knew 
her poor father longed to have her occupy. 

While this was going on, Mrs. Colestoun had more than 


GRESHAM-IN- THE-PINES. 


83 


once proffered her sympathy, aid, advice, anything the 
perturbed household needed ; and she it was who, much to 
her own satisfaction, made the necessary arrangements for 
the best suite of rooms at the disposal of the Lakewood 
Inn. It was a great “card” for herself; it would be 
easy, she felt sure, to be one of the Reade party; and 
in fact so indispensable had she become by the time of 
their departure that even Droy, in his quietly-authori- 
tative tone, said, “Why not take Mrs. Colestoun along? 
She knows everybody and everything. You’ll find there’s 
a good deal to understand in a place like that.” 

And so it was arranged. Mrs. Colestoun, after some 
demur, found “ Tom” could spare her for a week or two 
at least, and thus augmented — decidedly reinforced — the 
party set out ; Mrs. Colestoun and the girls starting a day 
in advance to have all in readiness ; Mrs. Reade and the 
invalid, with Droy, and Mapes as general factotum, and 
Agnes Moore in her own capacity, coming later. 

At any other time Constance would have been alive to 
the novel pleasure and enjoyment of a perfectly appointed 
country hotel such as was the “ Gresham,” where, from 
the moment of their arrival, all seemed magically at their 
bidding. But her heart was sad; her brain perplexed. 
During the past few days not only had she been worried 
about her father, the piteousness of whose glance baffled 
and pained her, but the manner with which Mrs. Reade and 
Genevieve had begun to treat her was an additional annoy- 
ance. It was hard to define it as unkind or deliberately 
disagreeable, yet in effect it seemed both. Droy’s occa- 
sional efforts to make matters easier had been quickly 
perceived and regarded with a sort of smiling scorn, which 
stung Constance to the quick. What did it mean? she 
asked herself. What had happened — what had she done? 
And now this undefined change in her position had begun 
to reach the servants, who, having no ties of long service 
with any of the family, took their cue from u those who 


84 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


paid them.” Quick to observe the subtle change since 
the “ master’s ” seizure, it began below stairs to be under- 
stood that Miss Reade, after all, mightn't be anything but 
a dependent on her “ step-ma.” Agnes remained stanchly 
loyal, declaring she’d rather button Miss Constance’s boots 
without pay than brush a silk skirt of “ the others ” for its 
weight in gold; but even she was well aware that her 
mistress was Mrs. Reade, who paid her wages with unfail- 
ing regularity. It was not likely Miss Constance alone 
could retain or dismiss her. Too well-bred to show it out- 
wardly, Mrs. Colestoun was not slow to make her own dis- 
coveries — come to her own conclusions. Something had 
drifted across the smooth mirror of Con’s life, changing 
its fair surface, dimming its reflections. What it was 
Kingsley might be able to discover, but Droy, if he chose, 
certainly could reveal. 

Mrs. Colestoun “ bided her time ” — that is, let three days 
of their sojourn at the “Gresham” drift away, noting 
carefully everything which could tell upon the situation, 
and most conclusive evidence of all came in the convic- 
tion that Constance herself was aware of the change I 
After this, to doubt its existence were the idlest folly. 
Droy, however, betrayed nothing. So far as his conduct 
went, Constance might have owned the entire place and 
not received more delicate care, attention, deference, at 
his hands ; but he could not avert the thousand and 
one petty slights to which she tried bravely, hopefully , to 
shut her eyes, until it would have been mere servility to 
do so. 

“Are you tired? — why do you stay out here alone?” 
Droy asked of her one evening during the second week of 
their stay. Constance had left the large parlor, where — 
with the exception of her father— the rest of their party 
were mingling with a brilliant company. Genevieve, par- 
ticularly animated and gorgeous that evening, was the 
centre of rather a noisy group. Constance was in a little 


GRESHAM-IN-THE-PINES. 


85 


bend of one of the least-frequented verandas, and as she 
turned her face, in the starlight and glimmer of the moon, 
towards Droy, he saw, or fancied, traces of tears in her 
darkly-shaded eyes. 

“ No — yes — I am tired,” she admitted, “ and I am anx- 
ious, too. Papa does not seem to gain as fast as I hoped 
— and — Mr. Droy — ” she looked at the young man with 
very gentle but eager eyes — “ there is something else , too. 
You may, perhaps, enlighten me. Are my father’s affairs 
as they should be? I dare not trouble him, but — who — 
to whom are we to look, for example, for all — of this ?” 
She turned her glance briefly towards the suite of rooms 
beyond, in one of which the invalid’s lamp was burning. 

Droy hesitated. To reveal what would cause the girl 
before him pain was an effort difficult to make ; and yet, 
as he well knew, some one, sooner or later, would explain 
matters — the chances were in a way far less calculated to 
encourage her than his fashion, and might he not indeed 
be doing her a service by at least paving the way — pre- 
paring her for what she must inevitably hear? If he 
was not very much mistaken, Mrs. Reade and Mrs. Coles- 
toun were this very moment going over the same ground, 
and he had no objection to incurring her gratitude. 

“ Miss Reade,” Droy said, hurriedly, as though he felt 
in some way personally responsible, “ I suppose it might 
be as well for you to know one or two points. Your father, 
in that last deal of his, lost every sous marque. All of this, 
as you call what is spent up here— everything, I presume, 
from this out, will be out of Mrs. Reade’s pocket. Yes, I 
suppose,” he added, unconsciously, answering what was 
in Con’s eyes, “ that’s the reason they’ve — well, not acted, 
I must say, quite as they should, lately.” 

“And my father — we — are wholly dependent upon them?” 

Constance spoke in a low, infinitely anxious voice. 

“I — yes, that seems to be the fact.” 

The girl averted her face for an instant, her brow rest- 


86 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


ing on the pillar against which she had been leaning. 
The quiet radiance of the evening touched her fair young 
head ; the bit of softly-rounded cheek, the perfect curve of 
her chin, her throat, against which the laces of her muslin 
gown fell, seemed whiter than its own soft curves ; the 
slender, pliant outline of her young figure, so perfect in 
health and the grace of strength, yet ill-fitted to buffet 
against the rougher w r inds of the world of toil. He would 
have given much at that moment for the moral courage, 
as well as the confidence, which would have led him to 
bid her trust her fate to his keeping, let him be the archi- 
tect, the builder of her future life. But Droy, as we have 
said, dared not let sentiment come in between him and 
the goal long since set ahead for his eager but sometimes 
weighted feet. The 'present was not his; but as surely as 
it existed, he told himself, the future might , nay should , be. 

“You know,” Droy had found his voice at last, “that I 
am chiefly anxious to be of service to you, Miss Reade. 
Constance !” he laid one of his slender, brown hands firmly 
on her arm, “believe that much in the midst of all you 
may soon have to try you. If I could have averted ruin 
from your father I w r ould have done so, heaven knows; 
and now , if I could help matters in any w T ay, I would do 
it” 

She was looking at him, but with an abstracted air, and 
Droy said, as much to rouse her as anything else : 

“ I know they are thinking — talking — of sending him to 
travel for his health.” 

“My father?” 

“ Listen.” He spoke in a very low but imperative tone, 
and detained her as she was involuntarily moving towards 
the light in the window below. “I will tell you frankly 
what I think you ought to know. They say it is a cause 
of trouble ; it keeps his mind too anxious having you near 
him; it keeps his money losses, the state of his health, 
too much on his mind.” 


GRESHAM-IN-THE-PINES. 


87 


For an instant Constance looked at him doubting — eager 
to doubt — the truth of what he said. But her eyes drooped 
before the gaze he bent upon her, and which had in it 
something so entirely, so mournfully compassionate that 
even that faint hope died away. Had it come to this, 
then, that her very presence was not to be desired — was ac- 
counted as a factor against his slow and painful progress 
back to life, if never even actually to health again? 

“Oh!” Constance pressed her hand against her side as 
though to crush back out of hearing the rapid, painful 
beating of her heart, “can it be as you say? Does it 
grieve or trouble him, Mr. Droy, even to see me, then?” 
The tears w r ould not be stayed now. They had welled 
over the dark lashes and were running unheeded down 
her cheeks. Constance dashed them away, her fingers 
closed tightly on the filmy lace of her handkerchief, and 
she made a desperate effort at composure. 

“ Listen to me, Miss Con.” Droy spoke with all the 
composure possible in view of her distress, which was al- 
most more than he could bear. U I am not telling it you 
to grieve you — good heavens ! I’d cut my tongue out first 
— but because I know it may be even to-morrow , Mrs. 
Reade will take her own fashion of doing the same.” 

“I know — I thank you,” said Constance, brokenly, and 
holding out her hand ; u you have done all for the best. I 
must go now ; some people are coming; excuse me to the 
others if they ask,” she added ; “ say anything ; I am go- 
ing to my room.” And as the gayly-chattering voices 
drew nearer Constance sped away, entering the house by 
the nearest door, and was soon locked within the room 
next Mrs. Colestoun’s. 

For an hour and more Constance remained alone in the 
darkness of her room, sometimes kneeling in the window, 
sometimes slowly pacing the floor, as she reviewed every 
incident of the past few weeks from the time of her 
father’s coming — their strange first interview, his seizure, 


88 


A GILL'S ORDEAL. 


illness, all — until the present moment, when it was useless 
to longer close her eyes to what they had daily been 
shown — what Droy had now admitted to be the fact. De- 
pendents as they were upon Mrs. Reade’s bounty, her 
father would be easier, happier, better in her absence. 
In the still somewhat clouded condition of his brain he 
realized their fallen fortunes without fully comprehend- 
ing all it involved, but seeing her made it clearer — aggra- 
vated the pain it must be causing him ; so much so, in- 
deed, that u they ” were already talking of sending him 
away. No ! no ! A thousand times better would it be, 
thought Constance, for her to go — for her to withdraw from 
the scene of his daily life until at least he should be given 
a chance to get well, be once more himself again. But 
where, the girl asked herself, could she go ? What means, 
even, had she of supporting herself among strangers? 
Amblesworth, the Doctor’s home, she well knew would be 
open to her, but in their already burdened condition, 
with his painfully straitened means, how could she add 
to his expenses or their care? Constance stood still as 
she remembered one avenue of hope. Two days ago had 
come a letter from her old governess, Mrs. Ord, who bade 
her expect to see her in New York at any moment. A 
distant relative she had not heard of in years had sent for 
her; there was the question of a legacy to be settled, and 
as it might mean something like competence for her old 
age, she would lose no time in going East. 

“ I will wait another day,” thought Constance, with a 
murmured prayer of relief. “Mrs. Ord’s advice was al- 
ways good, and she is my oldest friend. She knows just 
what I can — what I had better try to do.” 

A rustling sound in the adjoining room told of Mrs. 
Colestoun’s having also sought her room early, and Con- 
stance ventured to tap on the door between their apart- 
ments. It was opened promptly by Mrs. Colestoun, and 
as the light fell upon Constance’s pale face and dry but 


GRESHAM-1N-THE-PINES. 


89 


heavy eyes Mrs. Colestoun’s heart was touched. Scarcely 
half-an-hour ago she had been agreeing with Mrs. Reade 
that “some way ” Con’s presence did seem to trouble her 
father; was there no — relative — she could “visit” for a 
time ? Both women thoroughly understood the meaning 
they — for the sake of mutual self-respect — strove to veil, 
and Mrs. Colestoun became aware that part of her task 
would involve “getting rid” of Constance even tempo- 
rarily. There was something behind even what Mrs. 
Reade admitted to be her motive ; but if such were the 
case, the woman guarded her secret well. As, day by day, 
Reade’s eyes rested more and more anxiously upon his 
daughter, what was it that his wife feared ? 

“ She must be sent away ; the sooner the better.” Mrs. 
Reade had said this to herself ; to Genevieve, who was no 
deeper in her confidence than to know Constance was “ in 
their way and, if not in actual words, had given Mrs. 
Colestoun to understand the same thing. 

And now here was the girl herself, seeking her at an un- 
usual hour, and with some new trouble evidently on her 
mind! Was it not, perhaps, a providential opportunity 
for that “ little suggestion ” Mrs. Reade had desired her to 
make ? 

“ Come in, my dear,” said Mrs. Colestoun with as gra- 
cious a manner as, under the circumstances, she could pos- 
sibly assume ; and she really, in her own way, liked Con- 
stance, thoroughly appreciating her superiority to “ the 
others.” “ You look like a little ghost, or as if you had 
been seeing one.” 

“Not quite,” said Constance, vainly trying to smile. 
“ But, Mrs. Colestoun, do you know — is Mrs. Reade in her 
room? I want, I may have to go to New York, and very 
early to-morrow ; that is, if I hear from Mrs. Ord. She 
was my governess so long, you know, and now she has 
come on East and I am very anxious to see her.” 

In a flash Mrs. Colestoun’s agile mind grasped at the 


90 


A GIRDS ORDEAL. 


idea — the chance offered ! Nothing could be easier than to 
send Constance on a visit to her old teacher — her old 
friend. 

“ Of course , you do ! Very proper, very natural, my dear, 
that you should I And how can I be of any service?’’ 

“ Oh, it was only this,” said Constance, a trifle hur- 
riedly, and standing by Mrs. Colestoun’s chimney-piece 
half-weary, half-impatient : u I thought, if I did hear from 
her by the first mail, you could help my getting right away. 
I could be back in a day or two.” 

“ Why, certainly. Anything I can do,” said Mrs. Coles- 
toun with an alacrity the cheerfulness of which might have 
seemed out of place, to say the least, had Constance been 
less preoccupied. “ Let me see ; there is a good train at 
9.30, a very good one; but you will want to see Mrs. 
Reade ? unless,” she made haste to add, “ your letter comes, 
and they are so late, mornings, you know.” 

“ Yes, if you would be so kind,” said Con, quietly. She 
had still some money of her own; more than enough for 
the journey. “I will only be a short time away,” she added, 
“ and I cannot, I must not miss seeing Mrs. Ord.” 

“ Of course not. Well, good-night, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Colestoun, touching the girl’s brow with her lips. “ I will 
explain matters if you shouldn’t see them. But, of course, 
dear child, it’s only for the day.” 

Yet, as she closed the door upon Con’s retreating figure, 
Mrs. Colestoun smiled and shook her head. 

“ She is making more of a break than she knows,” re- 
flected the shrewd woman of the world. “ I am very much 
mistaken if for the day will not mean forever” 


MRS. ORE TO THE RESCUE. 


91 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MRS. ORD TO THE RESCUE. 

For a week past Constance had breakfasted alone, un- 
less Droy put in an appearance, and the next morning 
proved no exception to the rule. When Agnes, who, in 
spite of Genevieve’s efforts to absorb all her time, still con- 
trived occasionally to serve Constance, came to the young 
girl’s door, she was surprised to find her up and dressed as 
if for a journey. 

Among them all, Agnes had seemed more truly a friend 
than any one in this desolating time, and Constance felt a 
pang at the thought of leaving her without more than this 
brief good-bye. 

Agnes, however, was not deceived. She felt certain there 
was more back of it, and betrayed both curiosity and sym- 
pathy in various ways, finally observing that she hoped, 
if anything were to change, Miss Constance would not for- 
get her. 

“ No, dear Agnes,* ’ said the girl, gently ; “ you have been 
very kind always, and I am sorry even for a time to say 
‘ Good-bye ’ to you.* ’ 

Passing her father’s door, she lingered for an instant, 
longing, yet fearing to disturb him by going in. 

“ Good-bye, papa, darling,” she murmured, moving on. 

Mrs. Ord’s letter was awaiting her at the breakfast-table. 
That lady was in New York, desirous of seeing her old 
pupil atonce ; and, leaving a brief line for her step-mother, 
knowing well that Mrs. Colestoun would explain her ab- 
sence, Constance made all haste to catch the earliest train, 
and was whirling away on the road to New York before 
any one of the Lakewood party, except Agnes and Mrs. 
Colestoun, knew of her departure. 


92 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


The address Mrs. Ord had given brought Constance to 
a large, double brown-stone house, standing in its own 
grounds. An old but very polite man-servant opened the 
door, and bidding her take a seat in the drawing-room, 
saying she was expected, went away to summon Mrs. Ord. 

A moment later Mrs. Ord was in the room, her conven- 
tionality for once forgotten or put aside in the genuine 
pleasure of beholding Constance, whom she clasped in her 
arms, declaring that she never knew until that moment 
how really fond she was of her. 

Constance was glad to discuss the situation with Mrs. 
Ord. She put her in possession of the main facts: Mr. 
Reade’s business difficulties — his evident anxiety where 
she was concerned — her own nearly penniless condition — 
above all, the clearly-shown feeling of Mrs. Reade and her 
daughter that she was an additional u burden 99 on their 
hands! 

“ Dear Mrs. Ord!” exclaimed Constance, looking with 
anxious wistfulness into her old governess’ face, “ believe 
me, a man like Mr. Droy — a woman like Mrs. Colestoun — 
would not mislead me! No; we can easily prove it for 
ourselves ! The fact is that she, Mrs. Reade, is obliged to 
pay all our expenses; and when the little I have left, which 
my father gave me as a quarter’s allowance the day before 
his seizure, is gone, I shall be penniless! Mr. Blount, the 
lawyer, would explain it in the same way; and, besides, I 
cannot longer endure the life I am leading. They — scarcely 
speak to me for days together! and, oh, in every way show 
that I am not wanted ! They are talking now — this is 
worst of all — of sending my poor father away because see- 
ing me, knowing he has ruined us both, affects his chances 
of recovery !” 

Con’s breath came quickly — a sob prevented any further 
words for the moment; but she had said enough. Mrs. 
Ord’s worldly wisdom taught her more than her old pupil 
had explained, and a feeling of pride for and in the girl 


MBS. OBD TO THE BESCUE. 


93 


at her side was aroused. These vulgar moneyed people 
should not crush all the heart and life out of this sweet 
young nature — this girl whom she had known and seen 
the centre of an adoring, idolizing circle. 

“ My dear,” said the good woman, pressing Con’s fingers 
affectionately, “ I think you are quite right, and you did 
very well to come at once to me. Oh, how I wish !” — she 
broke off suddenly, with an air of vexation. “ If you were 
only a little older ! She — she particularly objects to a very 
young girl.” 

“ She — who ?” inquired Constance, quickly. 

Mrs. Ord remained an instant longer in puzzled thought. 

“ Perhaps it might come to something,” she said, at last. 
“ My dear,” she added, “ you are quite sure no objection 
would be made to j r our leaving home? It would never 
do, you know, for me to create any family trouble.” 

“ No one would care,” said Constance, sadly. “ No one 
would miss me. Wherever I go I will take the only friend 
I have with me, my dog Keon. Have I not told you they 
speak of my presence as actually being an injury to my 
father !” Her eyes filled again, but dashing away the tears 
she went on, quickl} r , “ Mrs. Ord, we could perhaps see 
Mr. Droy. I know where he has an office. He will be in 
town to-day. He, I am sure, will make it all clearer than 
I can. Oh, you need not be afraid I Were I to go back 
and say I was going out as a chambermaid or a cook they 
would never care, unless, perhaps, it hurt their pride! 
Who were you thinking of — who is she?” 

Mrs. Ord’s mind had worked with its accustomed pre- 
cision, but, fortunately for Constance, more rapidly than 
usual; but, in fact, if anything were to come from the plan 
which had occurred to her as even a temporary solution 
of the difficulty, it would have to be promptly. “She” 
was not one to wait too long. 

“She, my dear?” echoed Mrs. Ord, at last returning to 
Con’s question. “ Oh, of course, you could not be expected 


94 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL 


to know who I meant. She is the niece by marriage, and 
was the ward of the friend I am visiting here. In fact, 
when I came on to attend to my own business, Mr. Car- 
gill sent for me, hoping 1 would help him out of his dif- 
ficulty. But — well you see, my dear, I’m too old to begin 
over again among strangers. I doubt if I could be of any 
service to a young girl who is very independent, I hear, 
and chiefly anxious for young companionship. There would 
be nothing really for me to do, and we would bore each 
other to death. Besides, I have at last enough, just enough, 
to live upon, and my brother-in-law’s girls are anxious I 
should settle near them. She, the young lady in question, 
is a Miss Armitage; Mr. Cargill is, or has been, her guar- 
dian. Now that she is nearly of age, according to her 
uncle’s will, at least about two-and-twenty, I believe, and 
after rushing all over the world with a sort of elderly 
duenna , not quite a companion or housekeeper, something 
between the two, she has decided upon, insisted , so Mr. Car- 
gill says, upon setting up her own establishment. It is her 
own home. It was her uncle’s, but she, it seems, has not 
lived in it for years. Her uncle was a great invalid, and 
travelled everywhere, to make himself worse, it would 
seem. A sort of second or third cousin kept the property 
up in his absence. Now, Mr. Armitage has been dead 
two years. My lady has been going about in a way Mr. 
Cargill considers quite outrageously independent, but she 
will soon be entirely her own mistress. He had a warm 
regard for her uncle, and, as a member of the family, is 
anxious to see her begin life more systematically at home. 
But, from what I can gather, she will do nothing at all 
unless it pleases her — suits her own taste. Mr. Cargill 
assured me that if she didn’t like her home up on the 
Hudson, which from all I hear is charming , she is quite 
capable of shutting it up, renting it, or even pulling it 
down and building another. It is very unfortunate, as he 
says that she has such full control of her fortune. The 


MBS. OBD TO TIIE BESCZJE. 


95 


only reason, it is likely, that she has not married in some 
absurd way is because, from all accounts, she is anxious 
to enjoy her freedom and her money to the fullest extent 
first. So far, no caprice in the way of choosing a husband 
has occured to her. Now, as her latest fad is a girl-com- 
panion near her own age — old Mrs. James is the merest 
figure-head, I understand — you might take her fancy; 
if so, it would be a home. It might be worth the 
trial.” 

Constance, who had begun by feeling quite fascinated 
by Mrs. Ord’s account of this volatile, independent young 
heiress, now began to fear she herself would not be pecu- 
liar or original enough for the situation. 

“ Nonsense, my love,” said Mrs. Ord, when Constance 
expressed her doubts. “ She has sense enough to know 
a well-born, well-bred and well-educated lady will not be 
so easy to find ; and I understand she particularly stipu- 
lates for some one who can go creditably into society 
with her directly she lays off her mourning. But the 
main point is that the person is to be able to go up to 
Fernhills at once.” 

A little more discussion followed, all encouraging to 
Constance, and proving to Mrs. Ord more and more that 
her first impression had been correct. If her “ family ” 
raised no objections, if this very confidential-appearing 
friend, Mr. Martin Droy, confirmed Constance’s state- 
ment, then it only remained to consult Mr. Cargill and 
his very troublesome and impatient young relative and 
ex- ward. 

“ You will have luncheon with me,” said Mrs. Ord, in 
conclusion. ‘‘Then we can telegraph to this Mr. Droy 
and consult Mr. Cargill.” 

After their luncheon, taken alone, as Mr. Cargill was 
not at home, they set forth in quest of Martin Droy. 
Constance was not at all surprised to find her com- 
panion touching upon the curious conditions of life 


96 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


which brought up scene after scene, as it were, in the 
drama of existence. 

“ Who would have thought, my love,” said the excellent 
woman, “ one short year ago, when you and I were roam- 
ing about the woods in Belchatel, that here we would be 
to-day on the threshold of such a new and surprising ex- 
istence. What romance is there to equal it! and who can 
tell what life may have, even now, ready and in waiting 
for .you! Do we need novelists ,” she continued, with a 
smile of scorn, “ to provide the stimulus of their fiction 
when we have scenes in real life like this ready to our 
hand? — heroines and heroes on every side?” 

Constance knew precisely how to receive these views 
without any reference to the severely practical ones uttered 
a short time previous ; and, indeed, they were so much 
more to her liking than those based on mere matters of 
fact that she kept Mrs. Ord’s mind in the same channel 
until reaching Martin Droy’s office brought them both to 
a consideration of the purely business side of the question 
in hand, Constance feeling an unexpected thrill of pleas- 
ure at thought of seeing Droy so soon again, even though 
on rather trying business. But this was no time, she felt, 
certainly no place, to indulge in any sentimental views; 
and, indeed, there was nothing in Mr. Droy’s small, sky- 
lit office to inspire a visitor ; but he was so clearly pleased 
by their coming, his thin, handsome face, with the bright, 
dark eyes, lighted with such an unmistakable gleam of 
satisfaction, that Constance felt a spasmodic fit of contri- 
tion for ever having allowed herself to doubt his sincerity. 
But even now she was a little guarded, though the ques- 
tions were put frankly, clearly, and to the point. Was her 
father, she asked of Mr. Droy, really a ruined man? Was 
there nothing for her to depend upon at present but Mrs. 
Reade’s bounty ? 

Droy, flinching somewhat from the clear, sweet, but in- 
expressibly mournful gaze of the girl before him, admit- 


MRS. ORD TO THE RESCUE . 


97 


ted, all too definitely, that such was the fact; and when 
it came to the other point — the knowledge that her pres- 
ence served to increase her father’s mental trouble — he 
assured her Dr. Knowlton himself was authority for the 
statement. 

Droy’s visitors exchanged glances of sorrowful mean- 
ing. He watched Constance while she rested her head 
upon her hand, her breast heaving with this new and 
perplexing burden, but he could say nothing beyond 
what she already knew, that he was eager in any way in 
his power to befriend her. 

“Then I may as well tell you at once, Mr. Droy,” the 
girl said, finally, “my mind is made up. I am going 
away, to work for my own living ; perhaps to earn some- 
thing for my father — ” 

“ Oh, my dear,” interjected Mrs. Ord, logic uppermost, 
“ don't be rash.” 

“ Not now, of course,” said the girl, with a sad smile ; 
“ but at lead he need not hav£ me near him as a daily re- 
minder of what he has to bear, what he has lost. And, 
Mr. Droy, you — you were my first friend, you know, when 
they came on here ; you have been so good and kind ; will 
you do a little more for me? Mrs. Ord is going to try and 
get me a position at once. Will you arrange matters so 
there shall be no good-bye that will pain or worry my poor 
father? Let him think I have just gone away on a little 
visit to Mrs. Ord.” 

“I will — I can, of course,” exclaimed Droy, fervently. 
He would have pledged himself to anything at the mo- 
ment, and felt as if he was entering the lists against all 
seen and unseen intruders upon Con’s peace of mind. 
What a moment it would have been had things gone 
ahead a little further! But now Droy, always an optimist, 
as w T e know, where his own deeds were concerned, reflected 
that nothing on earth would suit him better than to have 
Constance thus compelled to leave her high pedestal — to 

7 


98 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


face the world for herself. It would have pained him to 
see her in any want, but he liked to feel she was in a po- 
sition where she would need all the succor friendship had 
to give, and accordingly he assured her she need not even 
return to Lakewood unless she saw fit to do so. He would 
make everything all right. 

“ Between Mrs. Colestoun and myself there’ll not be a 
voice raised to oppose you, Miss Con,” he said, in the same 
fervent tone which Mrs. Ord thought so charming an ac- 
companiment to his rather melancholy “ Vandyke” type. 
(She was very fond of discovering and labelling her 
“types.” Constance she had always considered more or 
less of a very young, very girlish “ Diana.’ ’ Not just now , 
perhaps — she looked more like a drooping “ Psyche.”) 

“ Then why not remain over night with me?” said Mrs. 
Ord. “ Mr. Droy will go out to Gresham and make it all 
clear as noonday, I am sure. He looks just capable of 
settling every difficulty. You will find Miss Armitage — 
if you arrange with her — impatient of any delay.” 

So it was agreed upon, and if Constance left Droy’s lit- 
tle office more at rest on certain subjects, still she could 
not quite shake off that depression which resulted, nat- 
urally enough, from feeling herself so entirely an “ out- 
sider ” — an alien — some one who, instead of ministering 
to, only distressed the being nearest, and, above all, dearest 
to her in life and love itself — the one upon whom she 
assuredly had the strongest of human claims, yet whom, 
it seemed now, she must leave to strangers ! 


THE JOURNEY TO FERNHILLS. 


99 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE JOURNEY TO FERNHILLS. 

Mr. Cargill received Mrs. Ord’s guest with all possible 
cordiality. That lady had contrived, before introducing 
Constance, to explain her idea in regard to his impetuous 
young ward, and as he was just in receipt of the third let- 
ter within a week, relative to a young lady companion who 
would come at once, Mr. Cargill was inclined to accept with- 
out question Mrs. Ord’s idea that Constance was just the 
person needed for their dilemma. She could start imme- 
diately; Mrs. Ord undertook to manage all that. Con- 
stance could be provided by her with travelling necessa- 
ries. Once she was at Fernhills, Mrs. Ord said she herself 
would not hesitate to visit Gresham, see “ these people,” 
as she called Mrs. Reade and her daughter, and dispatch 
Constance's luggage. Activity of this kind had always 
delighted the good lady, and her zeal so affected Constance 
that all doubts and difficulties seemed smoothed away. 
Before noon the next day two telegrams had made the 
venture decisive. The first was from Droy : “ Everything 
all right. Trunk forwarded. Will call at two P.M .” The 
second was from the heiress herself: u Send Miss Reade at 
once. Telegraph train to Mrs. James , Fernhills , Gelston .” 

“ It sounds rather as though I were something out of a 
shop window, doesn’t it?” laughed Constance, as Mrs. Ord 
read the telegram somewhat dramatically aloud, “or a 
new pony — ‘Send on Miss Reade at once, C.O.D.’ That 
would have been more to the purpose! However — don’t 
fancy I mean to begin to rebel against taking orders so 
soon from my employer ! No — I lpoked the matter clearly 


100 


A GIBBS ORDEAL . 


in the face last night. I am well aware that I am to be 
— to prove myself worthy of my hire.” 

“My dear/” Mrs. Ord pressed her lips together for an 
instant, and looked in her most impressive manner upon 
the young girl. “All these things are merely relative!” 

Droy’s message sounded reassuring; but as Mrs. Ord 
declared she must leave that day, it would not do to dis- 
appoint Miss Armitage, etc., etc., the 3.30 train was agreed 
upon, and Miss Armitage notified by telegraph, after which 
there remained but a short interval before Mr. Martin 
Droy might be expected. During this time Mr. Cargill, 
who was, to Mrs. Ord’s way of thinking, a hopelessly in- 
dolent man, strolled into the smaller drawing-room where 
the ladies were seated, and quite with the air of consider- 
ing that Constance was going on a pleasure trip, hoped 
she would find everything at Fernhills to her liking. 
Constance, who had not so far considered that view of the 
question at all, smiled, and said she hoped to suit or please 
Miss Armitage ; whereupon Mr. Cargill, who was a well- 
preserved, rather fine-looking man of about fifty, without 
a trace of care in the lines of his intellectual face, smiled 
also, but in a way that disposed of the very idea at once. 

“You need not think or worry about that” he observed 
calmly, letting his eye-glasses dangle from his fingers as 
he spoke. “So far as I have been able to judge of her, 
nothing pleases the young lady half so much as having 
her own way. Give in to her as well as you can, and she 
will ask no more. I trust you w T ill not be in any way 
inconvenienced by her — whims.” 

Constance could only echo the wish, and was rather 
relieved when Mr. Droy appeared and the start had to be 
made. He was to see her safely on board the train. The 
Fernhills carriage would meet her at Gelston. Her trunk 
had been sent on already. 

Constance only half heard Mrs. Ord’s various sugges- 
tions, warnings, directions and advice, on parting. It was 


THE JOURNEY TO FERNHILLS. 


101 


with a sense of relief she found herself at Droy’s side in 
the hansom cab he had brought to take her to the train, 
and as soon as they were on their way she asked, half- 
anxiously, half-timidly, about his visit to Lakewood. 

Droy smiled. “ I wonder,” was his reflection, “ what 
she would think of my own honest opinion of the whole 
affair?” But aloud he said, in his most careless manner: 

“ Oh, it is all right I They were rather surprised by the 
suddenness of it, of course; but you see I explained, if 
you undertook this position at all, it would have to be at 
once, etc., etc. I was careful not to say too much. I fan- 
cied ” — he lowered his tone and looked at her with that 
peculiar look of confidential meaning which Constance 
half-liked, half-feared, making his dark eyes decidedly 
expressive and very tender — “ you would not care to have 
them know too many details. But remember, Miss Reade, 
I am wholly at your service. Write me about anything 
and everything you like or wish me to do. I will keep 
you posted in regard to your father.” 

Again her own lack of warmth, of appreciation, smote 
Con’s heart, and moved her to say, with as much feeling 
as possible : 

a Oh, you are so kind ! Of course, I will write, and thank 
you over and again ! What would I have done without 
you !” 

Droy’s dark cheek flushed, but he said, lightly enough: 

“ Oh, don’t thank me — I — your welfare is all I am con- 
sidering.” 

And perhaps it was as well that in the same moment 
their destination was reached and the bustle of departure 
made any further confidences impossible. 

u It will not be more than an hour and a half’s jour- 
ney,” said Droy, as he put her into the most comfortable 
seat in the drawing-room car. “ But the train is just off; 
good-bye, then, for the time being.” He wrung her hand, 
bent the full power of his eyes upon her sweet, pale young 


102 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


face, not failing to note how the color swept across it — 
how lovely it made her, sad though she still seemed to 
be. “ Good-bye — no — auf wiedersehen /” he said, forcing a 
smile, and a moment later he was gone, the train moved 
on, and Constance saw him to the last standing, watching 
her from the platform with the same eager look lighting 
his face. 

She was glad of the chance, alone, at least with no one 
but strangers near her, to think over what had happened ; 
to conjecture as to what lay before her. Just what her 
duties as “ companion ” to any one would be she had so far 
not the least idea, but Miss Armitage, of course, would 
speedily define these. We always form an idea in advance 
of meeting any person who is much discussed, and Con- 
stance, from all she had heard, had naturally enough pict- 
ured the young mistress of Fernhills as a very charming, 
high-spirited, independent creature — capricious ithad been 
suggested — volatile, difficult to please; yet for all these 
same reasons she was the readier to undertake the post 
of companion. To be at the beck and call of a tame, spir- 
itless girl, who had only the power of wealth to make her 
interesting, would not have suited our heroine in the least, 
and Constance only felt timid when she remembered the 
sarcastic tone in which Mr. Cargill had suggested that, to 
please his former ward, she need only give her her own way. 

“ But how,” thought Constance, “ could I ever do differ- 
ently ? At the most I shall never be asked to do more 
than suggest. It will never be my place nor in my power to 
deny her anything. I must let her have her own way !” 

Everything, from the moment the train, passing a tiny 
junction, came in view of Gelston Station, grew inter- 
esting and important; but it was, in a general way, very 
like many other places passed en route, and which had 
scarcely diverted Constance’s gaze from the lovely river 
scenery. She observed with delight that Gelston was at a 
point where the views of the river — the banks, with their 


THE JOURNEY TO FERE HILLS. 


103 


upward wooded slopes; the bends and curves, the glim- 
mering, sky-crowned distance — seemed most charming ; a 
little inlet — a sort of bay— led to the station itself. Here 
were the usual elements of the point of contact between 
travel and an aristocratic country-place, where hotels were 
unknown; everything about the station bespoke calm 
proprietary right — the quiet, well-ordered, well-kept-up 
and managed point of arrival and departure for travel- 
lers whose ways were those of the luxurious and the 
self-assured. She had scarcely stepped upon the plat- 
form before a footman in dark livery was at her side, touch- 
ing his hat respectfully, while he inquired if he addressed 
“ Miss Reade;” and Constance felt at once that things were 
to be made at least luxurious for her, as the man took her 
small bag and checks and led the way to a carriage notice- 
ably elegant, even in the company of so many others fine 
in make and finish. 

He held the door open, and Constance beheld, within, a 
large, fine-looking, middle-aged woman, very well-dressed, 
and who said at once, as she extended her hand : 

“ Miss Reade, I beg you will excuse my not getting 
down, my foot is a little lame. I am Mrs. James. Very 
glad to see you, my dear.” 

And Constance, as she shook hands, recognized the 
“duenna” or nondescript appendage to Miss Armitage’s 
establishment of whom Mr. Cargill, in his half-indolent 
fashion, had spoken. 

“Peter has the light wagon, I presume, Rogers,” said Mrs. 
James, and the coachman answering , l< Yes, ma’am ; the 
young lady’s luggage is on it now,” Constance observed 
her trunk was in place on a trim, open wagon, the driver 
of which was receiving instructions from the agile foot- 
man, who was speedily in his place, and they were soon 
driving away up the lovely wooded road, past inclosures 
of fine country dwellings, out again upon the river-bor- 
dered but well-sheltered highway. 


1 04 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ It seems quite too bad, my dear,” said Mrs. James, in 
such an easy sort of voice that one could not fancy any- 
thing occasioning an increase of volume in it, “ that Miss 
Armitage was unexpectedly called away to Albany about 
two hours ago. It was some business she was obliged 
to attend to in person; but she begs you will feel thor- 
oughly at home and do quite what you like. I may 
have to go in town to-morrow, but only for a few hours, 
and I am sure you would like to have the chance to roam 
about and see the place for yourself. And you would like 
to get rested.” 

“Oh, I shall enjoy myself,” said Constance, “ if I am 
going to be one of Miss Armitage’s household. It will 
never do to make anything of a stranger of me.” 

“ Very sensible, I am sure,” said Mrs. James, turning 
her bland, serious, but very good-humored countenance 
towards Constance, and, it would seem, inspecting her 
critically for the first time. Her chief impression was of 
that fine air of high-breeding which Constance gave to 
everyone. “ How will Miss Armitage like so much 
beauty?” reflected Mrs. James. “She will not like it to 
come in competition with her.” 

Not at any time, however, was Mrs. James inclined to 
speculations over anything, so she dismissed the subject 
and amused herself and her companion by pointing out 
the different residences they passed and naming their 
owners. 

“ Miss Armitage, you know, lived here as a child,” said 
Mrs. James, as they turned in through a fine, imposing 
gateway, “and, of course, it seems more of a home to 
her than she has known in years. Oh, Rogers, one 
moment,” as they were passing the lodge; “ I want to ask 
Mrs. Cooley about the baby.” 

A pleasant-faced woman appeared at the door of the 
very pretty stone lodge, and Mrs. James continued, affably : 

“ Oh, Mrs. Cooley, did the cook send down the chicken 


THE JOURNEY TO FERNHILLS. 


105 


broth for little Billy? Miss Armitage will be so vexed if 
it was forgotten.” 

“Oh, yes’m; much obliged, I’m sure. He’s doing 
nicely, thank you, ma’am.” 

She spoke with a sidelong glance at Constance, about 
whom everyone on the place felt interested, and returned 
to her own cosey kitchen, remarking to a young girl by the 
fire : 

“ The new companion, as they call her, looks fit to be 
the boss herself; but she’s very pretty and young, not a 
bit like anyone hired and paid for, so to speak.” 

“Well, I hope she’ll have a good place,” said the vis- 
itor, with a sigh. “ I hear Miss Armitage is none too easy 
to please.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Cooley ; “ we never have 
any words. She likes to feel herself boss , don’t you know ; 
and, as I say to Cooley, it breaks no bones, and it’s her 
that pays the bills.” 

The avenue swept between lines of fine old trees to a 
house, the proportions of which seemed at first, to Con- 
stance’s eyes, almost palatial ; but she soon saw that the 
effect was produced by the various turrets and irregularly- 
built wings, which gave an impression of space. 

But it was very large, thought Constance, to be the 
dwelling of one solitary girl, no matter how numerous her 
dependents — built of brick and gray-stone, here and there 
half-hidden under a veil of green and flowering vines ; its 
many windows, oddly shaped porches, curves and projec- 
tions, all giving way, so to speak, to the effect produced by 
the main entrance, which was by a short, very broad flight 
of stone steps, on either side of which were wide balus- 
trades, pots of flowering shrubs and ferns adorning them, 
while the doors, both of which were flung open, revealed 
a hall of what foreign guide-books call “ noble ” propor- 
tions ; it was at once lofty and yet home-like in air, hav- 
ing for its central point of attraction a huge fireplace, with 


106 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL . 


rugs scattered about, and from which two or three fine 
dogs rose and stretched themselves at the new arrival. 
The staircase wound away at one side, lighted by tall, 
narrow windows— portieres to right and left indicated dif- 
ferent rooms— at one side huge, folding doors stood closed 
and uncurtained. 

“ Here we are,” said Mrs. James, in a tone of slight fa- 
tigue ; and as the butler, a staid-looking man of middle 
age, was attending to their entrance, she said, glancing 
about: “ Where is Nora? — oh, there — ” as a tall, fresh- 
looking housemaid appeared. “Nora,” she continued, 
“please show Miss Reade to her room — and, my dear,” 
she now turned to Constance, as though relieved to be at 
home, where she could relax more in her speech and man- 
ner, “ will you mind if I ask you to dine alone ? I am 
really tired, and to-morrow I must be in town, but Nora 
will see you have all you require.” 

Constance could only assure Mrs. James she had not the 
slightest objection to any arrangement which would en- 
sure her companion’s comfort, and accordingly, as Mrs. 
James moved away, up one side of the great staircase, she 
followed Nora, the maid, up the other — across a small 
landing, down two or three steps — finally into the rooms 
which the maid said had been “ specially made ready for 
her.” 

“And Miss Armitage left most particular orders, Miss,” 
said the girl, “ that you were to tell me if there was any- 
thing you’d see wanting. I thought it quite cool enough 
for a fire; and as long as Mrs. James isn’t going to dine 
down stairs, maybe you’ll have your own dinner up here?” 

Rightly interpreting this was what the servants would 
prefer themselves, Constance said nothing would suit her 
better. Her trunk was brought in ; the maid opened the 
door of the bed-room adjoining and went away, leaving 
our heroine, when she had laid aside her hat and wrap, 
to examine, at her leisure, the rooms which she guessed 


CONSTANCE BEGINS HER CAREER. 


107 


would be the nearest approach to home she would know in 
this luxurious mansion, where she was to be installed as 
one of what seemed the u retinue ” of a young girl who 
held, it would appear, a sort of sovereign sway within its 
walls. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

CONSTANCE BEGINS HER CAREER. 

Nothing indeed was wanting. Both rooms had been 
furnished with a view to comfort, and even luxury. Al- 
though the hangings were only of cretonne, the quality and 
pattern were of the finest — apple-blossoms and green 
leaves on a white ground — the furniture of light oak; 
the carpet a delicate, cool-looking pattern; while book- 
shelves, a tall clock, the chimney and fire-place were all 
of dark, richly-polished woods. An upright piano, a 
large library table, the deep, easy-chairs of the sitting- 
room, all carried out the suggestion of elegance combined 
with comfort, and at the same time added emphasis to 
the idea Constance felt she was right in having that here 
was to be her home. However she might at times pene- 
trate beyond into the larger realm of the great house, 
she was not expected to be quite one of “ the family.” But 
this was decidedly, in its way, a relief. Less would be 
demanded from that individuality, that inner core of self \ 
which Constance Reade gave to so few, and vdiich she was 
conscious of holding as her own inalienable right not to be 
bought, u salaried ” or bargained for ! There she w r ould 
pass her hours of freedom in unrestrained communings 
with the authors she loved best ; in writing to her absent 
friends, thinking, planning, hoping — nay, Constance, dream- 
ing, too, I fear, not a little, and of a future which you would 
fain make all happy, all holy, all fruitful in its fulfilment 
not only for yourself but for those you love! 


108 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL. 


Six o’clock pealed in silvery strokes from the tiny pen - 
dule on the mantel, and Constance started away out of 
dreamland to go over to a wide, long window in her little 
parlor, outside which she saw a balcony, which overlooked 
a part of the flower-garden, and beyond a charming view 
of the river and its eastern bank; but the most attractive 
point of observation was the garden, in which two men were 
busily at work in spite of the lateness of the hour. Already 
May was sending forth her harbinger of the summer's 
lavish bloom, and Constance wondered, regretfully, if even 
in this branch of her home life Miss Armitage deputed all 
labor to outsiders. “ Perhaps,” she reflected, “ I can rouse 
her to some interest in the flowers themselves ; but she 
may already care about them.” Her musings were inter- 
ruped. Nora, followed by the footman, entered, and a 
dinner dainty as ever princess could have required was 
set out on a table drawn comfortably between the fire- 
place and the window ; then, having seen that she had 
everything at hand, and placing a bell within easy reach, 
the maid withdrew into the adjoining room, where, while 
she slowly ate and enjoyed her first meal at “ Fernhills,” 
Constance could hear her putting away her various 
belongings. “Poor Agnes !” thought Con, with a quick 
pang of loneliness, homesickness, wonderment as to what 
was going on there even now, while she was taking her 
ease so luxuriously in her new home, or, had she not better 
say “ situation /” 

“ Yes,” thought the girl, with a comical uplifting of her 
brows and pucker of her lips, “that is just what it is ; and 
for all this luxury, who knows whether it may not be 
but a badge of very special servitude.” 

A tap on the door, soon after Nora had carried away her 
dinner-tray, was followed by a servant with a polite mes- 
sage from Mrs. James. 

“ Would Miss Reade object to doing her a favor?” The 
maid who spoke handed our heroine a large, leather-bound 


CONSTANCE BEGINS HER CAREER. 


109 


book with a heavy clasp and a wide book-mark. “ If you 
are not too tired, Miss,” said the girl. u It’s the evening 
chapter Miss Armitage reads aloud, and Mrs. James says 
she isn’t quite equal to it — if you could oblige her.” 

Constance said i( certainly,” but with not quite as much 
alacrity as she supposed she ought to feel, and an idea 
that it was asking a good deal of a stranger ; but she fol- 
lowed the servant across the little side-hall belonging to 
her own apartment, and down the main staircase to a 
room near the entrance, where seven or eight people, 
men and women, were assembled. They were evidently 
the servants of the establishment, and Constance under- 
stood this reading of a “ chapter ” to be one of her new 
employer’s rules. It must be admitted that they did 
not appear very vitally interested except in the chance to 
observe the new “ companion.” But while Constance read 
— opening the Bible at the place marked — having seated 
herself in the large arm-chair placed at the head of a table, 
she herself gained new courage ; and never afterwards, in 
recalling the varied and striking incidents of that day — 
one of the most important, certainly, in her life, or, as 
Mrs. Ord would have said, “ career ” — could she forget how 
that one moment impressed her, nor disassociate from it 
the words of the gospel which, if they fell, perhaps, on some 
ears not at all attentive, yet did not strike all barren soil : 
“ Hear ye; behold , the Soiver went out to sow . And whilst he 
sowed , some jell by the wayside , and the birds of the air came 
and ate it up. * * And some fell upon good ground , and 

brought forth fruit that grew up and increased and yielded — ” 

The words lingered in Constance’s ears after all in the 
great house was silent, and every one but herself lost in 
sleep or dreamland. Would she, thought the young girl, 
sow for the birds of the air or the fruit of the land? It 
lay in that strange, still, veiled future for her eyes to see, 
her hands to feel, or her young heart to know — perhaps to 
suffer. 


110 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

CONSTANCE TAKES A MORNING WALK. 

Constance opened her eyes to see a bath of glorious sun- 
light filling her room, and almost before she had fully re- 
alized where, or even who she was, a tap at the door 
announced Nora’s entrance with a little tray, on which was 
the morning cup of tea, and near it a letter in Droy’s 
handwriting. 

“ Mrs. James will meet you, Miss, if you please, at nine 
o’clock, for breakfast,” said Nora, busying herself setting 
out Constance’s garments and toilette articles while she 
sipped her tea and read the few lines Droy had written af- 
ter leaving her : 

“ It is only to ask you to be verry prompt in letting me 
know just how you find yourself, and what there is I can 
do for you. Shall I have your dog Keon sent to you at 
Fernhills ? Your father is about the same. I write, as you 
see, from Gresham, 10 p.m.” 

It was pleasant, thought Constance, as she made her 
toilette rapidly, to feel herself remembered. She would not 
ask for Keon until Miss Armitage’s return, and remember- 
ing what Mrs. James had said of being obliged to go in 
town that day, she made all haste not to keep the good 
lady waiting, who was, she imagined, rather punctilious. 

Nora guided her down the wide staircase, across the 
hall, and to a room which, she explained as they went, 
was used for a “ dining-parlor ” when there were “ not 
many guests.” Mrs. James, looking rested, freshened, and 
decidedly brighter, was waiting for Constance behind a 
large, old-fashioned silver urn and breakfast-service on a 
daintily-appointed little table, the central object of a very 


CONSTANCE TAKES A MORNING WALK. Ill 


cheerful, handsome room, whose windows, all comprised 
in one sweep at the upper end, looked out upon the flower- 
garden Constance had observed from her own little bal- 
cony above. Pretty hangings, engravings of rather an 
old-fashioned character, a large mirror above the chimney- 
piece, fresh, leather-covered furniture and two or three 
solid pieces of mahogany completed the arrangement of 
a room which seemed, Constance thought, admirably 
adapted ior pleasant family breakfasts. The gleam of a 
coal-fire sparkled on the fine silver and china; and al- 
though the day was brilliantly clear, a faint chill in the 
air made its warmth desirable. 

“ I do hope you rested well,” said Mrs. James, as she 
poured out the coffee, and the servant handed cutlets, 
muffins, etc., “and that you will not be lonely during 
the day while I am gone. You must go into the library, 
you know, if you like, or anywhere, and walk about the 
grounds. Get all your bearings ; and, Peter,” to the foot- 
man, “ be sure to give Miss Reade the shrubbery keys, 
and see that she has lunch whenever she is ready for it.” 

“ Don’t worry at all about me,” said Constance, almost 
ashamed to be made of so much importance ; and on Mrs. 
James saying, with evident relief, “ Oh, well, my dear, I 
won't , then,” she concluded that among the many instruc- 
tions Miss Armitage had left her household must have 
been various impressive ones connected with herself. 

At last, with considerable fidgeting and fussiness, Mrs. 
James was driven away to the station, and Constance, 
who, with all the dogs, had watched her departure from 
the top of the steps, stood still a moment, undecided 
just what to do with her liberty and Mrs. James’s urgent 
injunction to see everything in the house and grounds for 
herself. 

While the day was young and fine she decided on a 
ramble out of doors, and accordingly went in for her hat 
and wrap, asking Nora for some general directions to 


112 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


guide her way. These given, the butler produced a ring 
with three keys dependent from it, which he explained 
■would open the doors she would come upon in the shrub- 
bery. Then, seeing that the largest of the dogs was eying 
her in a very friendly fashion, Constance inquired, 
smilingly, if he might not go with her. 

“Why certainly, Miss, ” said Blake, good-humoredly; 
“only, he’s bound to take you into the lodge — he’s that 
fond of Mrs, Cooley’s Billy.” 

Thus attended, Constance set off on her first tour of dis- 
covery. The grounds were, indeed, beautiful ; neither skill 
nor expense had been spared. Nothing was w r anting either 
in the velvet smoothness of the sward or the height and 
breadth of the trees, which offered all the shelter from a 
noonday sun one could need. There were various seats, 
and even summer-houses, rustic arbors and cosey nooks; 
while, opening the three “ shrubbery ” doors, one after 
another, Constance found herself at last out on a road- 
way — not that along which they had driven last evening, 
but another, evidently a lane, and leading down to the 
river road. Following it by one or two bends, Constance’s 
steps were suddenly arrested by the sound of voices near- 
by — children’s voices — singing very prettily in unison. 
They seemed to come from the right, and our heroine 
turned a little bend in the lane, which brought her sud- 
denly and unexpectedly upon what appeared to be a small 
school-house, one window of which stood open. 

Conscious that where she stood she was quite unob- 
served, Constance looked with interest upon the scene dis- 
closed within the unshuttered window. A good-sized room, 
hung about with maps, printed scrolls, etc., and having 
several rows of desks, was presided over by a thin, dark- 
eyed girl somewhat over twenty, and who, from her posi- 
tion on a small platform, beat time for the singers below. 
These were children of both sexes and all ages between 
four and fourteen, and who presented every variety of 


A MODEL KINDERGARTEN. 


113 


childish look and coloring. They were strikingly uniform 
in their dress. The boys wore trim sailor suits ; the girls 
the tidiest of linens, with pretty white aprons. Every lit- 
tle head, boy’s or girl’s, was neatly arranged — the locks of 
the little maidens tied with ribbons becoming to their 
blonde or brunette style. The song they all were sing- 
ing appeared to be a sort of festival chorus, and it had 
reached its highest and most joyous notes when the eyes 
of the young school-mistress fell upon the figure beyond 
her window. She stopped short, flushed suddenly, and 
in an instant every head had turned, following the teach- 
er’s gaze. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A MODEL KINDERGARTEN. 

Constance would have drawn back, feeling as though 
she had been very intrusive ; but the young lady seated 
on the platform had quite recovered her self-possession 
and came down, opening the little school- house door as 
she said, ill a somewhat precise but very cordial manner : 

“ Will you come in, Miss ? Oh, don’t be afraid !” 

She smiled, and then shook her head in rebuke of the 
children’s persistent stare. 

“ We’re practising for Miss Armitage’s birthday,’' she 
explained, offering Constance a chair. “ !• — I saw you 
coming up, yesterday. You're the ‘ companion,' I guess,” 
she added, with a violent blush but a well-meant effort at 
being friendly and setting Constance at her ease. 

“ Yes,” said Constance, pleasantly ; “ and of course you 
are the school-mistress, I suppose?” 

u Oh, yes,” said the girl, blushing again, but not so bril- 
liantly as before. “ This is Miss Armitage’s particular 
school. She — does — it all,” she added, with a sweeping 

8 


114 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


glance and gesture ; which Constance understood to mean 
that the young mistress of Fernhills provided not only 
the food for the brain and the teacher’s salary required, but 
as well those very smart, clean gowns, aprons, sailor suits 
and bright hair-ribbons. 

“ It’s an improved sort of kindergarten,” said the teacher. 
“ That is, it — I suppose you think ” — for Constance smiled 
— “ like most people, who know that a kindergarten — a real 
one — couldnH be improved on, and so, indeed, it couldn’t; 
but, then, Miss Armitage has studied the question out, and 
this combines her ideas with the Froebel system to a cer- 
tain extent. The children, you see, have to learn what 
will keep them at home, but she makes everything decora- 
tive.” 

The teacher used the word as though it was a very famil- 
iar one in the Fernhills home vocabulary, and continued, 
while Constance listened much interested, to point out the 
various articles in the room, finally to explain the mean- 
ing of certain rather unintelligible objects on the wall. 
Strings of various colors hung from one bar, balls of as 
many hues from another. A large frame against the wall 
had part of a picture in its frame, made up from broken 
pieces. 

“ These are color-blending lessons. Johnny Morris,” she 
said, addressing the nearest boy and taking up some 
pieces of wood, “ fit those into the landscape whereupon 
the youthful Johnny proceeded to enlarge the picture- 
structure, a bright little red-haired girl being called upon 
to “ harmonize ” some of the red-pink shades among the 
colored balls. 

“ Miss Armitage is very anxious to develop taste and 
proportion,” said the teacher, using the terms in the same 
matter-of-fact tone. 

“ And how well they sing!” said Constance, who rather 
inclined to the musical part of Miss Armitage’s philan- 
thropy. 


A MODEL KINDERGARTEN. 


115 


“ Oh, do you think so ?” said the young teacher, her eyes 
lighting with pleasure. “ I am so glad, for it is very im- 
portant they should.” She hesitated and added, “ We 
were half-afraid it wouldn’t do — the rector, you know, is 
so particular. It is for Miss Armitage’s birthday,” she 
added, lowering her voice as though she half-feared to 
make too important a disclosure. 

“ Indeed !’’ said Constance, more and more interested as 
new features w T ere added to the importance which all 
seemed to attach to her unknown employer. “ When will 
it be?” she added. 

“ Oh, not until the 2d of June,” was the answer; “but 
we are always glad to practice while she is away. Mr. 
Fenton ” — she looked inquiringly at Constance — “ oh, but 
you don’t know him, I suppose — he is a friend — well, a 
sort of relation — he didn’t seem to care for it, particularly, 
but the rector and his wife said Miss Armitage would be 
delighted ! The children will have some little gifts, and 
they will receive her with this chorus. Perhaps you 
would like to hear it? Oh, by the way, I know — I sup- 
pose — you are Miss Reade, and I’ll introduce myself. I 
am Milly Brum age.” 

Constance acknowledged the introduction and thanked 
Miss Brumage at the same time for letting her hear the 
birthday chorale , which, if a trifle too fulsome to suit her 
individual taste, would, she had no doubt, please the 
young lady for whom it was intended to honor, or the 
rector and the school-teacher would not be undertaking it. 
True, it occurred to her that Miss Armitage would have to 
be a very remarkable young woman indeed to merit all 
the eulogiums the verses set forth. In the space of three 
stanzas she was likened to Venus, Hebe, Minerva, and 
Ceres, while from the chorus one might fancy that but 
one feeling inspired the hearts and lives of all true-born 
Americans, and that was a sublime, passionate devotion to 
the “ Lady of Fernhills,” her interests, forever and forever, 


116 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


and endlessly forever, no day in the calendar being com- 
parable to that which had given this daughter of the Armi- 
tages birth . 

“ I had no idea any one could be as wonderful as all that 
implies,” thought Constance ; but aloud she said what she 
could with absolute sincerity, that the music was lovely 
and the verses remarkably pretty. She began to wonder 
who and what this “ Mr. Fenton ” would be who was the 
only one, it seemed, who did not quite approve, and where 
had she some association with his name? 

“ You said Mr. Fenton ” — began Constance, lifting her eyes 
to the school-mistress's face — and then she hesitated. It 
came back, as though out of a far-away, forgotten, distant 
dream, where and what her connection with the name I 
How long ago it seemed since that night at the rattling, 
jingling little opera bouffe, the “ Tailor of Pekin,” when, 
from his place on the distant side of the house, Droy’s 
friend, Mr. Fenton, had been summoned. What a life- 
time, thought Constance, had not the few weeks between 
that night of carelessly-happy amusement and this hour 
included ! Could she even be the same girl — the same 
Constance Reade ? 

“ Yes !” explained Miss Brumage, “Mr. John Fenton. 
You see he was the nephew of the old Mr. Armitage who 
left her all this place, you know, and I believe Mr. Fenton 
lived here at one time. At all events, he owns what is 
called the lower farm yet, and he has a great deal to 
say about the place — only, he isn’t home now. People 
say ” — but here she broke off with a meaning laugh and 
a shake of her head. “ I’m afraid, Miss Reade, you’ll 
think me a great gossip; but I’ll be so much obliged 
if only — if you’ll make her think it’s all lovely. You 
see, we never quite know what will please her. Do you 
think we’ve praised her up nicely enough?” she added, 
with real anxiety, and watching Constance’s face as she 
spoke. 


A MODEL KINDERGARTEN. 


117 


“ Oh, enough ?” said Constance. “ Dear me ! I don’t see 
how you could possibly say another word if you tried!” 

She was thinking it was as well Miss Brumage had not 
put the question differently. Laudation, if that was what 
she and the rector and his wife were aiming at, could, she 
fancied, go no further. 

“ Then I’m sure she’ll be delighted,” said the teacher, 
with an air of relief and decision, “ and I am glad, let me 
tell you, to have had a perfectly unbiassed opinion. Oh ! 
must you go ? Well, I’m sure I’m ever so much obliged 
to you ; and do call again.” 

The childish trebles were again uplifted, and the paeans 
to Miss Armitage’s birth, wit, goodness and beauty filled 
the spring-like morning again, like the carol of an old- 
time minstrel at his lady’s gate. “What must she be 
like to have so much homage on all sides rendered her?” 
thought Constance, as she reopened the little green door, 
relocked it, and retraced her steps, going on through the 
paths which led up under the shelter of the pines and 
around to the cliff beneath which the river sped along 
on its tranquil course. 

“ How delightful it must be,” thought the new “ compan- 
ion,” as she stood for a few moments leaning against the 
trunk of a grand old pine-tree, “ to be undisputed mistress 
of all this lovely bit of the world’s surface? — this stately 
home, which has sheltered so many people, dependent 
upon one girl’s bounty, subservient to her will, nay, it 
seems to her very least caprice !” 

No greater proof of how the mistress of Fernhills was 
regarded could be given than this laudatory manner of 
preparing for her birthday precisely as though she were 
a Princess Royal, whose name, whose illustrious birth, 
sanctioned, justified such homage. 


118 


A GIBUS OBDEAL. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

Blake, the dignified butler, himself appeared as Con- 
stance entered the house, and in a tone which was an ad- 
mirable blending of deference and suggestion informed 
her that “if she had no objection, luncheon would be 
served a trifle earlier than usual.” 

“ Mr. Fenton have run up for an hour or two, Miss,” 
the man explained, “ and he must catch a particular train.” 

“Oh, certainly,” said Constance; and after an instant’s 
reflection added, “ Why not serve the gentleman’s lunch- 
eon alone, Blake, and you can send mine to my room.” 

“ Oh, very well, then, Miss,” said the man, apparently 
relieved ; and adding that he would be up in twenty min- 
utes he went his way, Constance finding her own room, 
where she sat down, trusting that this Mr. Fenton, who 
might or might not be the same whose acquaintance she 
had made so casually, would “ speed his going ” and let 
her continue her tour of investigation. She was anxious 
to utilize this day of unlooked-for freedom by learning as 
much as possible about her new surroundings. Already 
she felt as if her interview with the young school-mistress 
had been of decided importance as well as interest. Now, 
she would enjoy an inspection of the rooms in the house 
which belonged to its daily life in general. 

Her luncheon over, she waited with satisfaction the de- 
parture of the dog-cart from the stable-yard, and heard it, 
later, speeding away toward the main road. A few mo- 
ments later she opened her own door and went down the 
stairs, thinking there could be no possible objection to her 
seeing the main rooms of Miss Armitage’s fine house, with- 
in which, for a time, at least, she was to make her home. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


119 


The drawing-rooms fronted the lawn, and w r ere, as the 
State of the house demanded, all that art and wealth could 
combine to make beautiful. The inlaid floors were scat- 
tered about with rugs of priceless value. The satin dam- 
asks and laces used in furniture and hangings of delicate 
pinks and grays contrasted charmingly with the woods of 
ebony, rose, and satin. Across the hall a suite of rooms — 
library, morning-room, and small study suggested more 
character in their appointments. Here, it was clearly evi- 
dent, were rooms not so recently remodelled, so finely fash- 
ionable in their air of the elegance of to-day; and Constance 
liked best their look of permanence, solidity — of something 
more suggestive of home life. In fact, the distinguishing 
quality of the room in which she lingered last — the library 
— was its disdain of anything merely ornamental. Two 
sides of the room were filled with shelves well laden from 
floor to ceiling ; the centre was occupied by a large, thor- 
oughly comfortable, useful table, with all manner of para- 
phernalia for writing on top and rows of drawers on eacli 
side below. The chairs were abundant; all comfortable. 
Some excellent paintings and engravings hung upon the 
walls unoccupied by the books, although even below them 
low shelves extended on both sides, full of volumes. A 
deep, square, recessed window had comfortable lounging- 
seats, and looked out over a projection toward the river 
and one corner of the lawn. 

Constance, wishing with all her heart that the still un- 
known mistress of the house would give her the passport 
of ready entrance to this room, was reluctantly leaving it, 
when the handle of the door turned suddenly, a voice said 
to someone behind, “ Very well, say that I am here,” and 
a gentleman, tall, dark, broad shouldered, and muscular 
if somewhat slightly built, came into the room, and Con- 
stance, with a queer feeling, half of surprise, half of dismay, 
recognized him at once. It was Mr. Fenton, the Mr. Fenton 
who had made one evening of her life worth remembering! 


120 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

MR. FENTON REVIEWS THE POSITION. 

Constance found it rather difficult to answer Mr. Fen- 
ton’s greeting with as much composure as she would have 
liked, since to meet him here, of all unexpected places, 
was so startling that for the moment she seemed almost 
deprived of the power of speech. But Mr. Fenton seemed 
to understand what was passing in her mind. He strove 
to make the formula of greeting as matter-of-fact as possi- 
ble, and said, quite with the air of an old acquaintance: 

“ After all, Miss Reade, I had to turn back on my way 
to the train. I found I had left some important papers 
behind me; but I am well pleased, since it affords me a 
chance of meeting you again.” 

u Oh!” exclaimed Constance, “I am glad, too; but I 
hadn’t the most remote idea of seeing you here /’ ’ 

“ No?” Fenton smiled as he drew a chair forward for 
Constance and seated himself on the sofa. It was, Con- 
stance fancied, rather a cynical smile, but she understood 
it in the light of what Mrs’. Ord had told her. This place 
had once been his own home — doubtless he had looked 
forward to its being so forever. 

“Fernhills and I have parted company,” he said, in 
a careless tone of voice ; “ but now I shall be 4 free to 
roam,’ since I am so sure of my cousin’s being in good 
hands.” 

He smiled as he spoke, but presently, growing graver, 
he arose, and going to the chimney-piece, stood looking 
down earnestly upon Constance for a moment in silence. 
Then, as though a sudden resolve had been taken, he con- 
tinued : 


MB. FENTON REVIEWS THE POSITION. 121 

a Miss Reade, I hope all will go well now. Do you know, 
when I heard that you were expected, although I was not 
at all sure you were the Miss Reade I had met that even- 
ing, I was strongly inclined to see you-— to judge of you 
first for myself — in order to be at rest on one or two points 
before you undertook what of all places in this great house- 
hold will be the most important, the most difficult.” 

“ Don’t alarm me too much!” exclaimed Constance; 
“ for do you know, already I begin to feel, from all that I 
have seen and heard, that I must be the most audacious, 
reckless of girls, to have fancied I could fill the post of 
companion to Miss Armitage. From what I see and hear, 
she seems really like royalty itself.” 

Fenton’s grave, dark face relaxed again into a smile full 
of sympathy as well as amusement. 

“ I don’t wonder at that,” he answered, “ and I am sure 
no princess of the blood-royal could have more at her com- 
mand than my uncle’s niece. But, you see, she has not 
the usual restraints of royalty; she is at liberty to follow 
her own bent — to indulge every whim or caprice; and 
since they, luckily, never outrage good form, all around 
her have merely to bow their heads — to applaud — encore! 
encore! I am sure you will not wonder, therefore, that I 
was exceedingly anxious when I heard of the latest idea, 
or fad, she had taken up — a companion .” 

“I am merely on approval?” 

Con’s lip curled slightly as she spoke, and after a quick 
glance at her companion she averted her eyes, the color 
slowly mounting into her cheeks. 

“ There is spirit enough there, I fancy,” was Fenton’s in- 
ward comment; “ but the girl is terribly young and looks 
very innocent — a refreshing quality. She may do Helen 
good, but I wish from the bottom of my heart she had not 
thought a companion necessary ! I suppose I will be 
compelled to do the civil to her. It’s a nuisance all 
around.” 


122 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


Aloud he said, with additional effort at politeness : 

“ Don’t, I beg of you, put it quite in that way, Miss 
Reade. I merely wish to let you know I appreciate what 
you were undertaking and would like to help you.” 

Constance understood at once that he was merely anx- 
ious to make the way smoother for all concerned, and feel- 
ing that to “ stand on her dignity ” would be exceedingly 
foolish, or as though she thought herself of too much 
consequence, she said, in as matter-of-fact a voice as pos- 
sible : 

“ Oh ! I don’t doubt you could! And I am infinitely 
obliged. Still, by helping me to a better understanding 
of my position you will be doing Miss Armitage a service. 
So I shall have no scruples in troubling you.” 

u Precisely !” Fenton could not prevent a certain net- 
tled feeling that she had seemed to put their acquaintance 
on a purely business basis, but he took his tone from hers 
as he went on : “ You know, I believe, that Miss Armitage 
is thoroughly independent — absolutely her own mistress. 
Well, then, remember that even you, as her companion, 
supposed to be in her confidence, will constantly be in 
danger of acting as a medium for all manner of people 
who wish to — well, make use of her — of you, when they 
cannot, perhaps, reach her ; and various are the schemes 
whereby she will be induced to do this and that, even in 
charities , and which will, though all the world may not 
know it* be of service by chiefly increasing her own sense 
of importance — ; proportionately her own disappointment. 

“ When ?” inquired Constance, quickly. 

“When?” echoed Fenton, almost harshly, and drawing 
his brows together. “ When her disillusionment comes, of 
course! She is very clever — wonderfully so, in her own 
way; fond of excitement, novelty; in fact just now, Miss 
Reade, she is steeped to the eyes in love with life and all 
she expects to do with it. And it seems a pity,” he added, 
half-absently, “ that it is so hard to guide her, really and 


MR. FENTON REVIEWS THE POSITION 123 


seriously, about anything; only, we can — we must— in- 
fluence her.” 

“ What you fear, perhaps,” said Constance, slowly, “ is 
that she will be deceived — and suffer when she finds it 
out? Well, that is inevitable; but if she is so clever and 
so sensible, can she not steer her course safely — not go to 
extremes on either side? For example, she has so far, 
by instructions to all her people here, done everything to 
make my coming in her absence — my welcome — as agree- 
able and easy as it possibly could be, and I would be very 
ungrateful were I not to appreciate all this ; but I shall 
not expect too much. Even you” — there was the same 
involuntary suspicion of scorn in her voice — “ have taken 
pains — have been kind enough to point out to me that this 
is rather her way with people. I do not feel at all elated 
over it, and I will — I promise you, Mr. Fenton, so far as I, 
in my small way, am able — I will be of use to Miss Armi- 
tage, and never outstep the boundary-line of — ” she paused ; 
a look half-mischievous, half- wistful, crossing her face — 
“ I will not say servitude ,” she went on, Fenton listening, 
evidently well pleased, “ and of course I cannot now say 
friendship — what shall it be?” 

“ Prudence !” he suggested. “It is hard, on your first 
day at Fernhills, to try and dampen all your ardor, Miss 
Reade, but I assure you I am right. ” 

“Yes” — Constance looked at him with grave intentness 
— “ you are right and wise, and I thank you. Believe me, 
your advice is not wasted. I realize my position as I did 
not before, and I accept its responsibilities, and ” — she 
hesitated a barely perceptible second — “also its limita- 
tions .” * 

A moment later Fenton found himself alone. 


124 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

HELEN ARM IT AGE. 

Constance returned to her own rooms trying to feel 
grateful for Mr. Fenton’s well meant suggestions and offer 
of aid in any pitfalls she might encounter, yet she could 
not rid herself of that sense which seemed to possess all 
around her that Miss Armitage, and she alone, was of the 
smallest importance in their universe. Possibly, thought 
Constance, with a sense of the ludicrous side of it, she 
would herself, in the course of time, sink into the same 
profoundly uninteresting condition, and find herself only 
waiting for a cue in word or thought from her young mis- 
tress on which to form her own. But, no! Constance set 
her lips resolutely together and gave her head a little 
shake. She would not allow herself to drift into such a 
condition of mind and being! She would have a talk 
with the mistress of the house herself. Of course a com- 
panion implied some one whose company was desirable; 
therefore she must be amiable, good-natured and enter- 
taining. u Always ?” thought Con, with a little grimace. 
‘‘Oh, well, I must, I presume, read aloud — attend to her 
letters. Mr. Fenton suggests she will have limitless de- 
mands on her purse. Weil, I am to curb all this.” 

Again the sound of wheels on the gravel road below 
aroused Constance, putting her speculations to flight. The 
great family carriage was setting forth. Then it must be 
that she was returning! 

Constance felt by no means so composed as she had an 
hour ago. It began to seem more of an ordeal than she 
liked, to meet this young Lady of Fernhills, and she wished 
over and again that Fenton had been able to remain. But 
he had gone ; she had seen him driven away, like a flash, 


HELEN ARMITA GE. 


125 


in the lightest of the road-vehicles, and he hadn’t even 
turned his eyes once towards the house as he left it behind, 
but seemed to be straining his gaze anxiously in the direc- 
tion of the station. 

An hour passed. The cool, soft dusk of spring-time was 
upon the gardens, river bank, and placid width of water, 
stirred but faintly with the movement of the wind, the 
trail of some upward-steaming boat, the dip and bend 
of some noiseless oar. Constance had not lighted the 
candles or gas-jets in her room. She wondered if the din- 
ner-hour had been postponed, feeling sure Mrs. James 
could not as yet have returned. 

A quick, rather peremptory, little knock on her door 
sounded, and Constance opened it herself. 

Standing without, wearing a small, dark toque of black 
straw and a long travelling cloak, was a young lady of 
about her own age — unquestionably the “ Royal ” person- 
age she had not been permitted to forget for an hour since 
her arrival within the Fernhills domain. 

“ May I come in? Oh, you are nearly in the dark ! I 
must introduce myself. I am Helen Armitage.” 

And Constance’s employer held out her hand and came 
with a very easy, graceful manner, into the room, smiling, 
nodding her head, then sinking into the nearest easy- 
chair with an exclamation of complete fatigue. 

“Then w T e are introduced!” said Constance, laughing, 
“ for you know, of course, that I am Constance Reade.” 

She took a seat, and for an instant allowed herself to 
study the appearance of this so-much-talked- of personage, 
and whom she now felt she had been just a trifle anxious 
about. There was light enough for her to see a fair-haired 
girl of medium height, rather graceful figure, and with 
something decidedly distinguished in her looks and bear-: 
ing. She was handsome — yes, there was no doubt of 
that ; and it was a type which years would improve, since 
there need be no hard battle with the elements which rob 


126 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL , . 


youth of its bloom, the eye of its lustre, the cheek and 
brow of its unwrinkled surface. Every line was perfect ; 
an artist would not have found any fault with brow or 
eyes, nose or chin. The coloring was clear — an honest 
pink-and-white; the hair, a pale brown, without a tinge of 
gold, it is true, yet pretty in its own rather colorless way, 
brushed back from her smooth brow; the eyes, clearest sap- 
phire blue, gazing now somewhat absently down into Miss 
Reade’s little fire, were well shaped, the brows and lashes 
much darker than the hair ; the mouth, tell-tale feature in 
every face, seemed, with its soft curves, rather that of a 
wilful child. But the main impression of the face was 
one of pride or conscious power ; even the soft, dimpled 
chin had a touch of obstinacy in its lines. 

Constance was asking herself if, with so much real 
claim to beauty, the face was one to trust, when Miss Ar- 
mitage suddenly raised her eyes, gazed into the pair ob- 
serving her so closely, and Constance smiled! Yes; 
whatever the faults of the girl whose u companion ” she 
had agreed to be, our heroine felt sure she could — she 
should — be trusted. 

“ I think I am rather tired,’ 7 said Miss Armitage sud- 
denly, and rising as she spoke. “ I shall not try to dress 
for dinner. I am sorry to have kept you waiting.” She 
hesitated, almost as though there was something else on 
her mind to say, but only nodded, saying, “ Dinner must 
be ready now,” walked away, and in ten minutes the gong 
in the main hall below, which had been silent during the 
absence of the lady of the house, sounded — its tones clear, 
soft and penetrating. Constance knew it to be the sum- 
mons to dinner and went at once on her way. Did Miss 
Armitage, she wondered, know of Mr. Fenton’s visit? Was 
it her place to mention their previous acquaintance? Not 
likely. Constance decided, as she reached the dining- 
room, to say nothing on the subject unless Miss Armitage 
Introduced it herself. 


HELEN ARM IT AGE. 


127 


That Miss Armitage, when “in residence,” lived with 
every conventionality observed was clearly proven by the 
way in which the dinner had been prepared and was 
served ; and she had made a decided alteration in her own 
toilet notwithstanding her fatigue, her travelling-dress be- 
ing replaced by a gown of soft violet wool and silk, open 
slightly at the throat, where a solitary jewel on a slender 
golden chain set off its fairness, the sleeves, half-length, 
revealing the soft curves of her arms, the pretty wrists, 
and hands, white and slender, sparkling with rings. Seated 
at the head of the round table, which was profusely 
decorated with ferns and flowers, but all in perfect taste, 
with a service of rare china, silver and glass, the young 
girl might assuredly, thought Constance, claim a certain 
right to recognition of at least a unique and (she felt this 
strongly) fascinating position in life, in the world about her. 

Her hostess’s voice roused her. 

“ Are you very tired, Miss Reade ?” she was saying. 
“No? Perhaps you would like a little stroll with me in 
the garden? Jimny, dear,” she added, turning with an 
affectionate smile to Mrs. James, and laying one of her 
thin, white hands on the lady’s plump shoulder, “just see 
how grateful you ought to be to Miss Reade ( You know 
you hate going right out after dinner for even one of my 
strolls, and now you can take your ease.” 

Mrs. James, who seemed quite used to the rather irreve- 
rent sobriquet bestowed, expressed herself as decidedly re- 
lieved not to go on duty ; and, a servant having been de- 
spatched for “ some light shawls,” two fleecy woolen ones 
were produced, Constance having a blue one with a fan- 
tastic bit of silver in its meshes, Miss Armitage a soft gray 
and black. 

“ Do you know, I am given to prowling about at the most 
unearthly hours,” she continued ; “ so pray never be in 
the least surprised if you see me some moonlight night out 
of your window. I never leave the grounds, of course, and 


128 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


I take Ben-Ali, that big dog, with me. He is protection 
enough anywhere. Perhaps you don’t care for dogs.*’ 

“Care!’’ laughed Constance, and she proceeded to 
speak of Keon, of Larry’s thoughtful gift. Miss .Armitage 
looked — as, indeed, she felt — greatly interested. 

Next to haying her own importance recognized and val- 
ued, Miss Armitage liked “ confidences.” Indeed, that any- 
one should have a secret she could not share was genuinely 
annoying to the young lady of Fernhills. Constance had 
only said “ My friend Larry Coleman brought Keon down 
from Amblesworth to me, but of course I had to leave him 
behind,” when Miss Armitage promptly inquired about 
“ Larry ” and Amblesworth — with just a touch of inquisi- 
tiveness and undue curiosity ; but Constance felt sure it 
was intended kindly, and gave all the information re- 
quired in a way which made the heiress remark, half- 
sadly : 

“ Dear me ! What it is to have such real friends ! Do 
tell me, Miss Reade — you won’t mind my asking, I’m sure — 
were you not brought up — well, I mean it is only lately 
you’ve thought of taking care of yourself?” 

Constance smiled. She had no intention of giving her 
companion family details with which she was not con- 
cerned, but she said, in a perfectly frank, unembarrassed 
tone : 

“Yes; I only knew lately, as you say, that I would 
have to earn my living. My father, you know, has had 
paralysis ; and, to tell you the truth, the idea of being a 
companion rather dismayed me. It seemed to imply so 
much, and I — ” she broke off with a quizzical look and 
added — “ I really dreaded what I might find I” 

The fair face before her lighted suddenly, a deepened 
color in the cheeks making it unusually lovely. 

“And now ? Come, Miss Reade, tell me frankly, what 
do you think now?' ’ 

She laid one of her hands on her companion’s arm and 


HELEN ARM IT AGE. 


129 


seemed so eager for the answer that Constance could hardly 
think of what to say or of what was expected of her. 

“ Think ?” she echoed. “Oh, Miss Armitage, I must 
not commit myself surely to an opinion so rashly. I — ” 

“But you have seen mcP cried the girl, imperiously. 
“Can’t you tell so much?” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Constance, laughing, “you mean lit- 
erally, then, what do I think of what I see ? Why, your 
mirror tells you that, I am sure.” 

“ Oh !” The heiress turned away petulantly and began 
to lead the way deeper into the garden. “ I should think,” 
she continued, glancing back over her shoulder, “you 
could form some kind of an idea of what sort of a person 
I would be to live with !” 

“Yes— a little tin}’’ one,” laughed Constance, “and I 
shall enjoy being with you very much.” 

But although forced to accept this, Miss Armitage, it 
was evident, had expected something far more detailed 
and explicit, and it occurred to Constance that to “ curry 
favor” with her would be an easy matter provided one 
could stoop to the deceit which prompts all mere flattery. 
But if she could not employ this means directly of pleas- 
ing the young lady, at least, and without reserve, she could 
admire the beauty and perfection of the gardens, whose 
spring-like charm she had observed from her own win- 
dow, and which was felt doubly now, as they strolled up 
and down the well-kept walks and pathways — thoughts 
of the “ home ” gardens giving emphasis to her enjo} r ment, 
although it must be confessed Constance gave preference 
to certain of the home-garden elements. There the “ mean- 
est flower ” had its place because all growing things were 
loved. 

“Where is Ralph? ” said the young lady of the house, 
glancing around. She rang a bell near the main conser- 
vatory door, and turning to Constance continued: “Miss. 
Reade, Ralph, the head gardener, will tell you how fine 

9 


130 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL . 


the fuchsias are. I am determined they shall take a prize 
this year. We have a Flower Show in June or July. This 
year I’m going in for fuchsias. Roses are lovely but more 
ordinary, don’t you know — like chrysanthemums. I have 
some of the finest of the new ‘ Countess of Aberdeen,’ the 
w T hite fuchsia. I am so worried lest Mrs. Byron, near Clair’s 
Valley, gets ahead of me with hers. I told Ralph if we 
took no prizes, or only very second-rate ones, I certainly 
could not, in justice to myself, keep him on — at least not as 
head gardener, you know — oh, there you are, Ralph,” as a 
large, fine-looking man appeared from a side-door of one 
of the greenhouses. “ I am speaking of the fuchsias,” she 
continued, “ to Miss Reade. You can tell her about the 
new ones.” 

And Ralph proceeded to do so, much to his own delight, 
on finding that Constance’s love and knowledge of the 
plants under his care was of the kind which quite merited 
his attention. 

“ Ralph, what are those fuchsias ?” asked Miss Armitage. 

Constance was observing some exquisite carmine blos- 
soms with white sepals, and she looked up to say, with a 
little smile : 

“They are my flowers — that is, we used to say so at 
home — the ‘ Constancy.’” 

“ Oh, indeed!” Their fair owner bent over them, and 
rather ruthlessly plucked one of the richest branches. 
“Then take these, Miss Constancy , as a pledge of — what 
shall I say, on your first night here? If my cousin, John 
Fenton, were only here, he would do it so prettily !” 

As they were leaving the garden, where the dusk made 
it easier to speak, Constance said, in as matter-of-fact a 
voice as possible : 

“ I — I was surprised to meet your cousin, Mr. Fenton, 
here; I had no idea he was a relative of yours.” 

Miss Armitage stood suddenly still in the dimly-lighted 
pathway. 


INSTALLED . 


131 


“What! you know him!” Her voice expressed more 
than surprise. It was almost like consternation— as though 
Constance had carelessly referred in terms of familiar 
friendship to the Prince of Wales, or even to the Czar of 
Russia. 

“ I — oh, no — I have only chanced to meet him — only 
once ; it was the most casual sort of an acquaintance ; 
indeed, it could not be called that” declared Constance, 
annoyed that she had not spoken of it sooner, for it was 
clear, from Miss Armitage’s manner, she thought her reti- 
cence a trifle odd ; “ but, naturally, I was surprised to find 
him here.” 

Miss Armitage was silent while they retraced their steps, 
she leading the way to the smaller drawing-room, where 
Mrs. James was half-dozing over the evening papers. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

INSTALLED. 

Miss Armitage made an early move, ringing for the 
reading, which she conducted herself, and in a very nice 
way, Constance could not help thinking, and on bidding 
our heroine good-night she said, with a pleasant smile, yet 
with a touch of the same constraint : 

“Amuse yourself as you like, Miss Reade, until about 
eleven to-morrow. Unless my mail is unusually import- 
ant I shall have nothing for you to do until then.” 

And giving her her hand, with a little nod of good-night 
and dismissal, Miss Armitage stood still in the great hall 
of the house, while Constance passed on up the stairway 
to her own room. 

It was clear to her mind that her tardy mention of Fen- 
ton’s visit, and their previous acquaintance as well, had 


132 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL. 


in some fashion disturbed the placid frame of mind which 
Miss Armitage had shown when chatting to her new friend 
but a moment previous ; and combining this with the 
school-mistress’s half-hints and Fenton’s own manner 
made it impossible to doubt that either some “ understand- 
ing ” already existed between the distant cousins or would 
occur at some not at all remote period. 

Our heroine slept as peacefully as though she had seen 
into a future wherein everything was calmly and prosper- 
ously ordered, and awoke to hear Nora in her little sitting- 
room and to find that she had half an hour only before 
breakfast. Not a sign was there of Miss Armitage in the 
breakfast-room, but Mrs. James was up, and it seemed an 
understood thing that the young lady of the house did as 
she liked about her morning meal. 

The clock on Constance’s mantel had barely passed the 
half-hour after ten when a tap on her door was followed 
by the entrance of Miss Armitage’s French maid, Celerine, 
a trim, dark-eyed, rather plain-looking girl of about six- 
and-twenty, who, addressing Constance in fairly good Eng- 
lish, desired her to “ attend mademoiselle ” at once, if she 
would be so kind ; and accordingly Constance followed 
the girl across the main upper hall and to a curtained 
doorway, which she opened noiselessly, ushering Miss 
Armitage’s companion into the first of a suite of rooms, 
where the various easy chairs, the low, deep-cushioned 
sofas, the soft footstools, suggested the comfort intended 
for its occupants and owner. A doorway at the lower end 
had curtains swung across a pole of whitest ivory, and 
these parted almost as soon as Constance was in the room 
and Miss Armitage bade her good-morning. 

“ You slept well, I hope, and are ready for our first day’s 
regime?” she inquired, brightly. “First I will show you 
pay rooms. This is my sitting-room, where I see all and 
only my particular friends. Oh, there are a number of 
people I have to meet and entertain who never, with my 


INSTALLED . 


133 


permission, pass the threshold ; and this ” — leading the 
way into the room she had just quitted — “ this is my 
‘ den/ where we shall work. I have a door, you see, back 
of the portiere, to lock when I like.” 

It was a good-sized square apartment, like a small 
library and study combined, but richly furnished, the 
colors admirably chosen, Miss Armitage’s taste evidently 
inclining her to peculiar shades of green and brown, which 
certainly were an excellent background for her own fair 
self. A large table occupied the centre of the room ; a 
Davenport stood open in one window ; two sides of the 
wall had book-shelves half-way up, pictures adorning the 
space above. 

They left the room now by a small door at one side, 
traversed a short, narrow hall, and Miss Armitage opened 
the doorway of her own “ bower ” — as lovely a room, 
Constance thought, as she had ever seen. Everything 
was pink, gray, and silver. The bed, in a wide recess, 
was draped in a cretonne rich as satin, the pattern gar- 
lands of roses on a pale gray ground. The windows were 
hung in white lace, with lambrequins of the same exqui- 
sitely fine material. The woodwork, furniture and flooring 
were all in satin-woods and lightest oak, the rugs a blending 
of India hues which harmonized to perfection. A great 
dressing-table draped in lace, and bearing every conceiv- 
able article in richly-chased silver, occupied the space 
between the main windows, an easy-chair covered with 
rose and gray satin damask being drawn before the long, 
wide mirror occupying its central space, and in which the 
young mistress of the luxurious room could study herself. 
Beyond lay the actual dressing-room, a marvel of luxury, 
Constance thought, with its porcelain bath sunk in the 
flooring, its marble-tiles of pink and white, its various 
contrivances to render the care of the toilette as luxur- 
iously easy yet as perfect as possible, no detail which in- 
genuity could devise or money purchase being lacking. 


134 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL . 


“They are the most perfectly-appointed rooms one 
could imagine,” said Constance, with frank heartiness of 
manner. “ I can’t think how you planned it all, for I am 
sure it is your own doing, Miss Armitage.” 

“ Oh, yes f ’ said the other, evidently pleased ; “ I did it 
all— every bit — myself. I can’t bear anything in bad 
taste ! It gives me the horrors, do you know, every time 
I go over to the rectory, to see the terrible colors and things 
Penwick has in her drawing-room! Still, I suppose she 
likes them. She made me a sofa-pillow, once. Oh ! how 
thankful I was when it was stolen from my Victoria, 
when I was shopping in Gelston ! I had taken it out, do 
you know, to see if it wouldn’t fade in the sun to some- 
thing a trifle less horrible, and an angel in disguise ran 
away with it ! I had a fright when Mrs. Penwick wanted 
me to advertise it ! I felt sure it would be returned at 
once, but I managed to get out of it some way.” 

Constance laughed sympathetically, remarking she 
never could understand the mistaken efforts and zeal 
which prompted half of the fancy-work undertaken, and 
by this time they had re-entered Miss Armitage’s own 
special “ study.” The young lady of the house indicated 
a comfortable seat for Constance at the large writing-table; 
then taking an easy-chair close at hand and holding a 
desk and note-books on her knee, she desired Constance 
to take out note-paper and envelopes, for there were some 
letters first to answer. 

Three or four merely business notes were dispatched. 
A very peremptory note to her dressmaker followed, de- 
siring her to send the “ gray-cloth suit immediately or not at 
all ; also a number of samples for an out-of-door garden- 
party costume.” 

“ I dare not tell her it is for my birthday, nearly a month 
hence,” declared Miss Armitage, “ or she would never be 
on time ; but nobody fits me like Rollins.” 

The mention of the name caused the amanuensis to 


INSTALLED. 


135 


start. Was it the Rollins who had made her gowns, and 
Mrs. Reade’s, and Genevieve’s? she wondered. Yes, the 
address dictated was the same, and Constance wondered 
what “ Madame ” would think did she know her custom- 
er’s present occupation ! 

“I wish — ’’Miss Armitage stopped short, smiled, col- 
ored a little and looked at Constance in silence for a mo- 
ment. “ I can’t, of course, dictate this next letter,” she went 
on at last, “ but I wish I could find some excuse to have 
you write it !” 

“ Why not, then, simply let me do so, saying I write for 
Miss Armitage. Is any excuse necessary ?” 

“Well, it is to Fenton,” said the young lady, slowly. 
“ Yes, that will do. Doubtless he will answer you, and 
of course I can see the letter. Now, then, you can j ust say, 
in your own language, that I am anxious to see him some 
day as soon as convenient, to arrange about my birthday. 
He will understand what you mean. Say there are mat- 
ters I ought to discuss with him.” 

“ Very well.” 

Constance, who could see no plausible excuse whatever 
for writing such a note, took up her pen, however, and 
after a moment’s deliberation produced a rather artificial- 
sounding affair, which ran as follows : 

“ Dear Mr. Fenton : Miss Armitage desires me to ask if you 
tvill pay her a visit at your earliest convenience , as there are cer- 
tain matters she wishes to discuss with you . 

“ Very truly yours , Constance Reade.” 

“H’m — well,” said Miss Armitage, dubiously, “that is, 
of course, quite to the point ; but you said nothing of your- 
self.” 

Constance elevated her brows in amused surprise. 

“ Why on earth shoidd I ?” she exclaimed. “ I am sure 
that Mr. Fenton would consider it very extraordinary if 
I added any remarks on my own account.” 


136 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


After the letters had been duly sent down to the mail- 
bag and Constance was awaiting further orders the young 
lady said, suddenly: 

“ Now, then, you must tell me what you and my cousin 
talked about the other day.” 

Constance felt puzzled. She knew that to detail a con- 
versation in which Mr. Fenton had, so to speak, “ put her 
on her guard,” and referred to Miss Armitage as being too 
much “in love with life,” was impossible; but while she 
hesitated she saw that Miss Armitage misconstrued her 
silence. The color deepened in that young lady’s cheeks 
and her brows drew together, while with an unmistakable 
air of annoyance she exclaimed : 

“ It is of no consequence, Miss Reade. I see that you 
and my cousin may have had matters of confidence to 
exchange. Pray, forget that I asked the question.” And 
while Constance tried vainly to say something to remove 
such an impressioji the young mistress of the house 
picked up her account-book and began turning the pages 
over with nervous haste, evidently anxious to end all per- 
sonalities, yet unable to conceal her own annoyance and 
mortification. 

“You are wrong,” Constance began — 

“ This will do for the present, Miss Reade,” interrupted 
Miss Armitage. “ My head aches. I will amuse myself 
with a novel until lunch.” 

Constance felt herself dismissed and arose, putting the 
writing-materials tidily together, while Miss Armitage read 
on, or at least continued to turn over the pages of the book 
in her hand, until her companion was at the door, when 
she half-turned her head and remarked, in a way which 
could be taken as a command, a request, or a permission — 
hard to say just what the shade of meaning: 

“ I shall drive out at half-past two or three, and you 
might accompany me.” 

Constance hesitated, wondering if she could decline ; but 


GELSTON . 


137 


as, no doubt, there was more or less of service implied in 
taking the drive, she said briefly, but with perfect com- 
posure : 

“ Very well, Miss Armitage — I will be ready, then, at 
half-past two,” and went on her way, more vexed than she 
even cared to admit over the little “ cloud-rift ” on her 
first day — especially vexed with its useless, foolish cause. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

GELSTON. 

If Miss Armitage seemed rather silent at luncheon, nev- 
ertheless her manner was thoroughly polite ; and in re- 
ferring to the drive she observed to Mrs. James that, now 
Miss Reade had come, life would be less of a burden to 
her in many ways. 

The finely-appointed Brougham was soon at the door, 
Peter in the most obsequious attendance, and Grip, the 
smallest of the dogs, on one seat of the carriage. Miss 
Armitage, upon entering after Constance, took her seat 
and bade Rogers stop at the school-house in passing. 

Constance hoped the pupils would not be calling on 
earth and sky to echo to the name of Armitage lest their 
secret be known ; but the school was just being dismissed. 
The children came flocking out, but all drew back a little 
as their benefactress, in her fine equipage, came driving 
up. 

“ How do you do, Miss Brumage ?” said that young 
lady very pleasantly , u and how are all the children ? Oh, 
is that that dear little Carrie Goodman?” she continued, 
beaming upon a remarkably pretty, dark-eyed, brown- 
haired little girl of about eight years ; adding, in an un- 
dertone to Constance, “ Isn’t she a perfect beauty ! I must 


138 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


have her up at the house. Come here, darling !” she con- 
tinued, holding out her delicately -gloved hand, while the 
favored pupil, half-shyly, half-proudly, advanced; and 
Miss Brumage tried to say “Miss Armitage, Carrie isn’t as 
good a girl as I’d like to see her,” but Miss Armitage ap- 
parently objected to any dispraise of her favorite and only 
shook her head at Miss Brumage, while she contrived to 
hunt a small silver piece in her purse for the curly-haired 
delinquent. 

“ Good-bye, all of you !” she said, nodding and smiling 
as they drove away. “ I’ll come to the school-room very 
soon. Isn’t that child lovely?” she continued. “But 
Miss Brumage always has some fault to find with her. 
And so does Annie Pen wick, in the Sunday-school. I 
can’t understand it.” 

“Unless she deserves it,” said Constance, thinking the 
child’s face the very incarnation of wilfulness, though it 
was certainly charming. 

“ I wish you could see her parents !” pursued the young 
lady. “ They are simply too dreadful — idle, good-for-noth- 
ing, untidy ! Oh, I can’t bear even to feel that Mrs. Good- 
man ever crosses my threshold ! She never does, unless it 
is to beg for something. To think of that little cherub 
belonging to them 1” 

“Can no one help them to mend their ways?” in- 
quired Constance. “Even poverty need not necessarily 
mean dirt. I remember the poorest family we had in 
Belchatel was the very tidiest.” 

Miss Armitage glanced at her companion with another 
of those gleams of curiosity or interest. “Belchatel — 
your Western home? Oh, some day you must tell me all 
about it,” she said, intending to be very gracious, and re- 
solving anew to forget all the displeasure of the morning. 

There was no need of any answer. Memory of those 
“ dear old days,” as the young girl had learned to call a 
period not very distant, so far as years were counted, was 


GELSTON. 


139 


easily awakened, bringing pain and pleasure in the reverie 
into which she drifted ; but she roused herself quickly. 
The carriage was entering the main street of Gelston, and 
Miss Armitage expected her to show some interest in her 
native town. 

“ Isn't it a dear old place !” she exclaimed, as they 
turned down a wide street bordered with shops and a few 
dwellings of a well-kept but old-fashioned character, elm 
and maple trees affording abundant shade. “ I am so 
fond of it,” she went on. “ I can’t think what exactly to 
do this year.” She glanced about with an air of owner- 
ship, or as though it was all her private property. “ I had 
the Town Hall as good as rebuilt last summer,” she went ~ 
on; u and that square — or common — you see nicely fenced 
in — the boys play ball there of an evening in summer. 
Well, something may occur to me. You must help me 
to think,” she added, as the carriage stopped before a 
book and stationery store, at which they descended— to 
purchase a new “ set of diaries,” she explained, “ with a 
full page, at least, for every day.” 

“ And now for the rectory,” she said, as they were leaving 
the store; but three ladies, all sheltered, or aiming to be, 
by one sun-umbrella, bore down unexpectedly upon them. 
Constance drew back a little while they and Miss Armi- 
tage exchanged greetings — the ladies all talking together 
and saying the same thing in different language : 

“So glad to see you ! You are here now for the sum- 
mer? How well you look !” 

“ My dear Helen — when can I have a talk with you ?” 
This from the elder lady in the centre of the umbrella, 
who had readjusted her eye-glasses to observe Constance 
at the same time. The other two, clearly the stout lady’s 
daughters, had glanced briefly in the same direction, and 
were now hanging upon Miss Armitage’s words. 

“ Dear Miss Armitage, if only you would give me an idea 
about the Flower Show dresses !” said the youngest of the 


140 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


trio, who was quite pretty in a blonde, inoffensive sort of 
way. “ Mr. Fenton said he would help me,” she went 
on, urgently, “ but then he may have forgotten all about 
it.” 

“ Probably,” assented Miss Armitage ; “ but you can ask 
him if he comes over here on Sunday. My ideas are too 
vague, as yet, to be useful. Miss Reade” — she turned 
with a very winning smile, which forced Constance to 
draw nearer — “ allow me to introduce Mrs. Bailey, Miss 
Bailey, and Miss Cora,” she continued, affably. 

The ladies stared as fixedly as good-breeding would per- 
mit, but held out their hands with due cordiality ; after 
which, leaving time for nothing to be said, Miss Armitage 
fairly skipped into her carriage, Constance, a trifle bewil- 
dered, following ; and directly they were out of hearing she 
exclaimed, with a light laugh : 

“My dear, they would in some way have put you 
through twenty questions if we’d stayed an instant longer! 
Besides, it’s such fun to puzzle them I They’ll go all over 
town, I’m sure, to try and find out just who you are, be- 
fore Sunday! If only no one can tell them I’ll put my 
cousin up to misleading them a bit, anyway !” 

The rectory gates were by this time reached, and the 
carriage, as well as Miss Armitage' s disquisition on the 
Bailey family, came to a stand-still, and Constance fol- 
lowed the young lady, not without a certain unaccus- 
tomed shyness, for her second introduction to any one in 
the Gelston society, to which Fernhills belonged. 


THE RECTOR'S FAMILY. 


141 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE RECTOR’S FAMILY. 

The rectory was a moderate-sized, severely neat-looking 
dwelling, with just enough lawn and garden about it to 
justify Mrs. Penwick in keeping a “ boy ” about the place 
in addition to the coachman, who combined various duties 
with his care of the rector’s horses. Everything was in 
that perfect order which made it seem almost a liberty 
on the part of the sun as it danced back and forth 
across the pale green sward or chased the shadows under 
some fine old trees on the lawn nearest the front steps and 
porch, and the scattering of some flower-petals seemed 
really unpardonable. 

“ Now, be very precise,” said Miss Armitage, only half 
in jest. “ Remember that we are on our very best be- 
havior here. Say 1 papa ,’ 1 potatoes ,’ 1 prunes,’ if you can, 
till the family appears.” 

But Constance found the atmosphere of the drawing- 
room into which they were ushered quite restraining 
enough in its influence without this muscular effort. 
Presently steps were heard crossing the hall, and pre- 
cisely such a looking woman as might be expected as 
mistress of such an orderly abode, appeared — a tall, well- 
built but not stout middle-aged lady with smooth, dark 
hair under a lace cap, a fresh, unwrinkled countenance, 
handsome, large, white hands, with only a wedding and 
a small antique ring upon them, a well-fitting but plain 
black wool gown, which, although it betrayed the fashion 
of last year in out and finish, was as spotless as if new. 
Behind her came a slender, nice-looking girl — as the say- 
ing goes, “ as neat as wax.” Sleek blonde hair, a fresh 
complexion, sweet blue eyes, and a cheerful mouth with 
very white teeth, made the eldest Miss Penwick very 


142 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


agreeable to look upon, if not actually pretty, and both 
ladies welcomed their guests with as cordial a manner as 
possible, acknowledging the introduction to Constance by 
assuring her they were glad Miss Armitage had secured 
her as companion. 

“Mind, you are not to spoil her,” said Miss Armitage, 
gayly. “I intend to keep Miss Reade just as perfect as 
she seems now. I want her to improve me , and she can't 
do that, you know, if she gets spoiled herself.” 

“ Helen !” said Mrs. Penwick, suddenly, laying one of 
her large, white hands on the girl’s knee, “ tell me — what 
are we to do about the Flower Show? Do you realize we 
have not a month ahead of us ?” 

“ What I realize a great deal more,” said Miss Armitage, 
“ is that I am afraid the interest will not be general enough. 
I ought to go about, perhaps, and stir people up a little. 
Don’t you think so, Nellie?” she added, addressing Miss 
Penwick. “ It will be a shame to have it a failure.” 

“That must not be,” said the rector’s wife, gravely, 
“ and it will not. Let me see — the tenth. We have three 
weeks ahead of us. There should be a committee formed 
at once. Two , in fact — one on management, one on decora- 
tion. What do you say to our sending out a number of 
notes of invitation and letting them meet here?” 

a Very well,” said Miss Armitage, but in rather a spirit- 
less tone. 

“ How would it do to name you as Vice-President, my 
dear? Old Mrs. Shoreham has resigned. She can do 
nothing, you know, poor thing, since she broke her hip, 
and Mrs. Byron has always acted as President.” 

Miss Armitage thought of her fuchsias — her lovely 
“ Countess of Aberdeen " — and made a little moue. 

“ Mrs. Byron may not approve," she suggested. 

“ Nonsense, my love! I consider it settled . There are 
only three to vote on it — the Rector, Dr. Clapp, and Mr. 
Fenton; so, of course, it only needs your sanction." 


THE RECTORS FAMILY. 


143 


“ Impossible to say what my cousin may or may not 
do,” said the young lady of Fernhills with an air of indif- 
ference. “However, if I am proposed by the rector, and 
sure to be voted for by Dr. Clapp, he will hardly disown 
my qualifications so entirely as to vote against me.” 

The ladies discussed the fete until time to leave, and 
Constance, although naturally not called upon for any 
opinion, found herself decidedly interested in the ques- 
tion. 

“ So that is Helen’s newest acquisition?” said Nelly Pen- 
wick, as the Fernhills carriage drove away. “ Mamma, 
isn’t she a distinguished-looking girl ! I declare I could 
not help thinking Helen very courageous to go about with 
such an attractive demoiselle d'honneur /” 

“ Helen can do as she likes,” said Mrs. Penwick, coming 
away from the window and wondering just what had best 
be the next step in the matter of the Flower Show and fete. 
It was an annual affair at Gelston, attended by all the 
pomp and bravery possible in the way of exhibits, the 
costumes worn, and the assemblage itself. There was 
what was called an “ open ” day for the public after the 
“private” view, the latter being followed by a fete and 
dance, given in the large rooms of the Town Hall; and as 
only holders of tickets to the “ private ” view were admit- 
ted, there was no possibility of not meeting “ one’s equals,” 
even though the guests and ticket-holders came from town- 
ships far beyond Gelston proper. They were all in the 
same social area. 

“Nelly,” pursued Mrs. Penwick, “although, of course, 
I gave dear Helen full permission to write out a list, I 
think we had better make one and send it to her on appro- 
val. You know she is sure to forget half the people in 
Chester, for example. I might overlook some one myself. 
Get your book out now, and we will run over the list of 
names.” 


144 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL.. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

AN EXCHANGE OF OPINIONS. 

<c We have enough on our hands, I assure you, making 
out a list for th eftte” observed Miss Armitage, as the car- 
riage turned into the gates of Fernhills. “ I wouldn't for 
worlds leave it all to that Mrs. Byron, or old Mrs. Shore- 
ham either. Now you see how delightful and necessary 
the new diaries are, and you thought them so expensive ! 
Miss Reade, do come to my room at once.” 

Constance made all haste in laying aside her out-of-door 
garments, for, as short a time as she had been with the 
young mistress of Fernhills, she had discovered patience 
was not a very striking characteristic in her really sweet 
and generous nature. 

Crossing the main hall, Constance met the under house- 
maid, Sarah, with letters in her hand, having just left Miss 
Armitage’s room. There were three for her, and she turned 
to glance at the signatures before going further. One was 
from Mrs. Ord; another from Clare Coleman; the third 
was from Fenton, in answer to the note she had written. 
After skimming the three pages of heavy note-paper tilled 
by very clear, characteristic chirography, Constance shrank 
from showing it to Miss Armitage. No doubt he had writ- 
ten to his cousin as well, yet she almost wished he had 
contented himself with but a brief acknowledgment of her 
letter in his answer to Miss Armitage herself. This im- 
plied something more friendly, surely, than she had admit- 
ted even to herself, and might increase any feeling on her 
employer's part, which, for all reasons, Constance shrank 
from encouraging. The position was decidedly uncom- 
fortable, liable to produce unpleasantness in their mutual 


AN EXCHANGE OF OPINIONS. 


145 


relations, and she entered her employer’s room in any- 
thing but a peaceful frame of mind. 

Miss Armitage was standing gazing down into the fire- 
place thoughtfully, but she raised her beautiful eyes with 
a smile and said, rousing herself from a reverie: 

“ Now, Miss Reade, you will take your first lesson in the 
classification of Gelston and all Garth County Society.” 

She sat down at one side of her table and motioned Con- 
stance to the chair by the secretary, on which one of the 
very fine new books lay open. Miss Armitage had three 
or four older note-books at her side. 

“ These are lists we had for a church affair last year,” 
she observed. “ Now, then, you see they are all indexed. 
Will you read them aloud, and as you come to a name 
suitable for this occasion I’ll say yes and you check it off. 
Then we will prepare the invitations.” 

Half an hour was absorbed in this (to Constance) purely 
mechanical part of the work, since it was Miss Armitage 
who had now and then to pause and consider the appro- 
priateness of certain names; only, when “Colestoun” 
occurred, the secretary forgot herself so far as to smile 
and look up, which occasioned her companion to say, 
promptly : “ The Colestouns — do you know them ?” and 
Constance saying she knew slightly some people of that 
name, Miss Armitage said these were the “ Bromley Coles- 
touns.” 

“ Mine are the Tom Colestouns,” said Constance, and Miss 
Armitage looked quickly interested. 

“ Oh, then you know the fair Alicia ! Charming ! You 
can no doubt tell me just what I want to know!” she 
exclaimed. “I am so curious about her, in certain 
ways.’’ 

‘‘But I scarcely know her at all,” said Constance, 
quickly. “ Nor am I likely ever to see her again,” she 
added, with a little sigh. “ I do like Mr. Colestoun,” she 
went on, his kindly face, the dark, sad eyes under their 

30 


14G 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


shaggy brows, coming to her mind in curious contrast 
to the dainty elegance, the pretty civilities of his wife. 
“ They are friends of my step-mother — that is all. I pre- 
sume I shall never see them again.” 

“ Oh ! yes yon will,” declared Miss Armitage. “ They 
always — or she always visits her cousins up here. We'll 
make a big mark at their name ! Mrs. Tom Colestoun 
is their oracle of fashion, fitness and frivolity — that’s a 
phrase of Jack Fenton’s brilliant vocabulary.” 

“ By the way, did you not get an answer to the note I 
dictated — or rather you wrote for me ? Here ” — she picked 
up a sheet of note-paper from the table — “ he answers me, 
and says he will be up, if possible, early in the week — for 
my birthday, I presume.” 

“ I have not had a chance to more than glance at mine, 
yet,” said Constance, and, to her great relief, speaking with 
perfect composure. 

Miss Armitage looked relieved but half-expectant, and 
then seemed to conclude that Constance had left the letter 
in her room, for she said no more, and the list progressed 
until about twenty-five names had been checked off, when 
there arose the question of the terms in which the letters 
of invitation for a “ meeting ” should be written. This led 
to a clearer explanation of just what the Gelston fete and 
Flower Show meant. The “ show ” paid all the expenses 
of the fete and generally left a surplus for the special char- 
ities of the parish ; while the fete, which included dancing, 
a supper — all the elements, indeed, of a country ball — 
took place in the Town Hall, and never failed to bring in 
a goodly sum, which was very wisely employed for benev- 
olent purposes in the winter. 

“And now there are the dresses to consider,” said Miss 
Armitage. “ It is a generally-understood thing that at the 
Flower Show something very pretty and rural in effect is 
worn. You know, among the flowers the effect is very 
picturesque. I shall have the coolest and finest gray-and- 


AN EXCHANGE OF OPINIONS. 


147 


black affair Rollins can devise. That will be my last ap- 
pearance.” 

“ When is your birthday ?” said Constance, suddenly. 
She had been thinking that, between the fete and the 
Flower Show and the birthday, a new gown or two would 
be rather indispensable, even for the companion in the 
household. “ I must look my finest, I suppose, on that 
occasion,” she went on, smiling. “ Did you ever read the 
‘ Memoirs of Madame D’Arblay V No ? Well, when she 
was in attendance on Queen Charlotte there was always, 
according to her diary, great anxiety over the gowns to be 
worn on the various birthdays. Everyone was supposed 
to appear in something absolutely new. It was a terrible 
infringement of etiquette or conventionality to wear a 
gown on that day which mortal eye had seen before.” 

“ What a charming idea!” (Miss Armitage looked en- 
chanted.) “ So picturesque and pleasing ! I think we 
might do some such thing for my birthday. It would be 
a good way to put off all the mourning and make every- 
body presents V ’ 

Constance was a trifle startled by the result of her lit- 
erary reminiscence ; but Miss Armitage went on, without 
waiting for any definite reply : 

“ Oh, do make a note of the book at once and I’ll get it.” 

“ Oh, I scarcely think we need it,” said Constance, feel- 
ing sure, were the book sent for for any such reason, it 
must lay her patroness, whom she was beginning to feel a 
real liking for, open to some criticism. “ It was merely 
noted as a point of Court etiquette.” 

“I seel Well, do you not think something special 
might be worn on my birthday? You know, although I 
am of age, and all that, this will be the first chance I have 
had to really appear as I like, and Mr. Cargill will be here, 
and — well, it will be altogether quite an event.” 

“ You will not have a regular party ?” 

“Oh, dear, no! Later on, no doubt; but there will be 


148 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


some festivity. It was quite out of the question last year, 
of course. ’’ 

She hesitated an instant, and then, lifting her eyes with 
their sweetest look to Constance, said, very gently : 

“ I’ll tell you, Miss Reade, what you can do. When 
my cousin Fenton comes, ask him w T hat would be nice. I 
see you don’t approve the idea of the dresses—” 

“ Why, you see/’ interrupted Constance, “it would be 
hard to give people — except the school-children — their 
gowns. Mrs. James, for instance. I don’t suppose you 
would like to offer her a new dress, would you?” 

Helen laughed merrily. 

“I hardly think so. No, you are quite right, my dear. 
Your good sense is going to be invaluable to me. And 
you are as young as I am myself! But no doubt you 
had your judgment trained when very young.” 

This was said in a slightly-inquiring tone, but Constance 
made no remark, and Miss Armitage continued : 

“Yes, that will do, admirably! You make a point of 
discussing this with Fenton. He will have some idea that 
will be quite original, I am sure. Now, will you tran- 
scribe the lists into this book?” Miss Armitage handed 
her one of the recent purchases. “ Make the heading nice. 
What shall we call it — ‘Addresses of Patronesses of Fete/ 
etc ? No, that is too much.” 

“‘Names and Addresses,’” said Constance. “Won’t 
that do? There will be complications enough ; keep mere 
details as simple as possible, I should say.” 

“ Yes — very well. Oh, speaking of names, I meant to 
ask you — have you thought it odd, my referring to my 
cousin as ‘ Fenton’ so much? — as if I were a man, you 
know.” 

“ Yes, I noticed it,” admitted Constance. And then she 
said, with a little laugh, “ That is decidedly royal, or per- 
haps ducal, you know; quite as if ‘Fenton’ were his 
title.” 


LETTERS. 


149 


“ Yes, I suppose so. I only wish it were in my power 
to confer on him all that a title would bring — I mean, 
give him as much honor as there would be in one. Well, 
it was this way : I never cared for his name, which is John 
Derrick Fenton. He was called Jack, but as he grew 
older the name did not suit him. When I was quite small 
I took up the fashion of saying Fen ; from that it came to 
be Fenton; though, of course , when I speak to him I still 
say ‘Jack’ or ‘Fen.’ Now then, Miss Reade, I foresee 
that unless you take those lists to your own room my 
books will have blank pages only. I shall go down and 
see Blake about the flowers.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

LETTERS. 

Once back in her own room, Constance felt she had 
earned the right to a quiet reading of Fenton’s letter, and 
seating herself in her little easy*chair she drew it forth 
and read as follows : 

“ East 15tii Street, New York. 

“ My Dear Miss Reade : Many thanks for your oblig- 
ing little note, which gives me not only the opportunity 
of writing you myself, but of complimenting you on your 
proficiency as an amanuensis. I never saw anything bet- 
ter done as a note for a third party. Not a useless word 
or suggestion ; nothing which conveyed the smallest hint 
of the writer’s own personality beyond the signature ; yet 
you cannot deny that, since that was attached, I am at 
liberty to reply, and to ‘ discourse me ’ with more per- 
sonal intent. I have written to my cousin suggesting 
next week for a flying visit to Fernhills, but I can’t possi- 


150 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


bly say now whether it will be Tuesday, Wednesday, or 
Thursday, although no doubt on the first of the three I 
can wire the exact day. I expect to find you installed in 
your office, with all dignity and precision, as secretary, 
counsellor — everything that is wise, sedate and discreet. 
You look as though you might utter sentiments well 
worth remembering, or as if you could compose yourself 
to a judicious silence if occasion required. I shall really 
be glad to see that you are well and happy, and that you 
are not tired of your post. Until then, au revoir . 

“Yours, sincerely, John D. Fenton.” 

Constance understood perfectly the spirit of simple 
kindliness which had prompted Fenton to write her in 
this easy, good-humored and friendly strain, yet it was 
impossible for her to resist reading these pages over twice 
before locking them carefully in her desk. Then, putting 
Fenton’s letter aside, Constance turned to the rest of her 
mail, and read very carefully the neatly-written little 
epistle from her friend Clare Coleman. 

“ Dear Constance,” so it ran, “ I was so glad to hear 
from you ; and so, indeed, were we all, for of course your 
letter had to go the rounds. We are delighted to think 
you like your new home; but don’t work too hard, dear. 
The place must be very fine, and oh ! how I should love to 
see the garden and hot-houses ! Our flowers are going to 
do grandly this year. Larry will be down in your neigh- 
borhood next month, and will perhaps bring you back to 
us for a few days. Papa is not at all well. He refuses to 
consult any one, but he gets such turns of vertigo it alarms 
me. I wish you were here to cheer him up. All send 
love — you cannot know how every one is always inquir- 
ing for you, every one you know remembers you so affec- 
tionately ; and as for myself, dearest, I am quite foolish 
in the way I miss you. Write soon to 

“ Your loving Clare.” 


LETTERS. 


151 


“ Dear, dear Clare !” thought Constance, tears starting to 
her eyes. “ Oh ! for one evening with you ! How differ- 
ent to anything in my life here, splendid and luxurious 
though it all may seem to be. Can it be that the Doctor 
is seriously ill?” 

And Constance thought of her father in his strange, semi- 
apathetic, wholly weakened condition. To-morrow would, 
no doubt, bring a bulletin at least from Martin Droy. 

“ My dear Constance,” wrote Mrs. Ord, “ I trust all goes 
well with you, and between ourselves I think Mr. Cargill 
is very well satisfied. I shall try, when I can leave my 
brother’s family long enough, to pay you a little visit. 
Miss Armitage is no doubt blessed with much, my dear 
girl, that will ever be beyond your reach , and therefore it be- 
hooves me, as the one who has seen you grow from 
charming, docile, but ever-intelligent childhood to 
woman’s estate, to warn you against sighing for that 
which she has and you have not ; rather, my beloved girl, 
gaze on it all as & picture — a moving, changing, brilliant 
canvas; learn from it a lesson; pine not for the glitter; 
make your own little nest in that gorgeous tree, and let 
your song be of cheerful gayety and mirth, but quiet ever 
in its note. My brother’s girls are sadly helpless — curious 
results of modern training, or non-training. They are 
bicycle-mad! Yes, my dear, their ambition soars no 
higher than this desperately wild wheeling about — alone, 
together, in hordes — any way, so that they go over a cer- 
tain distance of country in a given space of time ! To 
w r hat are our girls tending? Is there anything about the 
modern bicycle in Mother Shipton’s prophecy? If the 
library of Fernhills possesses a sufficiently elaborated 
‘Encyclopedia,’ I wish you would consult it on this point 
and communicate the same to me. 

“Adieu for the time, my cherished pupil — I may, in- 
deed, say my almost child ; for, now that we are no longer 
in the old relationship of pupil and teacher , I can afford 


152 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


to let my sentiments expand and my heart utter its fond 
affection. 

“ Ever your sincere friend, Jane F. Ord.” 

There are some people who, entirely innocent of anything 
complex or artificial in their nature, find it impossible to 
write a letter without conveying an impression of the ut- 
most affectation. Directly they “ take their pen in hand ” 
nature and spontaneity fly abreast out of the window, so 
to speak, and the record of the homeliest event becomes 
like the echo of a state announcement. Such a one was 
Mrs. Ord. But Constance thoroughly understood her, and 
as well understood what she meant by speaking of her 
present feeling for her as compared to that which belonged 
to their period of companionship. As a governess Mrs. 
Ord had religiously curbed her personal inclinations, and 
while the fact that she could do so proved rather conclu- 
sively that they could never be very ardent, yet certain it 
was that there was no hypocrisy or exaggeration in her 
present expressions of interest and affection, since so far 
as she was able to love any creature, undoubtedly Mrs. 
Ord loved her with all the ardor of which she was capable. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

COMMISSIONS. 

Breakfast was just over on the Tuesday following, and 
Constance, in her own room, was debating as to what she 
had best do with the time, quite her own, for the next two 
hours, when there came a tap on her door, and Miss Ar- 
mitage’s maid appeared with a summons from her young 
lady. 

Miss Armitage was in her dressing-room, and seemed 
unusually alert at a time when she was generally inclined 


COMMISSIONS. 


153 


for repose ; but Constance understood it when she dis- 
played a telegram from Fenton, which she read aloud with 
evident delight: 

“ Will be ivith you Tuesday seven twenty. Please send to train.” 

“ Now then, Miss Reade,” said the mistress of the house, 
eagerly, “ I have various little matters to attend to since I 
know for a certainty my cousin will be here ; therefore can 
I ask you to go in town for me? Yes? Well, then, sit 
down, take the small note-book, and I will tell you what 
to do.” 

Various commissions were jotted down — purchases in 
some stores, orders to be left in others. Finally Helen 
Armitage said, most impressively : 

“ And now for the more important errand of all. I want 
you to go to Madame Rollins’ and see the gowns she has 
begun for me. I leave you free to use your own judgment 
in making any suggestions, alterations, or whatever you 
like; only be very firm with Madame about having the 
things here on time. My birthday dress will be nearly 
ready ; it must be pe-fect. And you can make an appoint- 
ment for me to try on others. There are three new ones to 
come up for the birthday occasion. Do, dear Miss Reade, 
look at every detail ! Then, if you will call at Mr. Car- 
gill’s for me, that will be all.” 

“But can I do it in one day?” said Constance, some- 
what confused by so many suggestions. 

“Oh, I think so. If not, why, of course stay all night! 
Mr. Cargill’s housekeeper will make you quite comfortable. 
Be sure not to come back unless you can do it without 
hurrying too much. Maybe you had better stay, any- 
how,” she said. “Then you won’t be hurried, and will 
have plenty of time to give to my dresses.” 

Constance went to her room to make her preparations 
for the journey with a very clear idea that Miss Armitage 
wished her to be away during Fenton's visit. She had 
little to do, and was soon ready. 


154 


A GIBUS ORDEAL . 


Rogers never allowed his horses to be rushed, so the 
station was reached in ample time to let Constance take 
the train leisurely, as became any one in Miss Armitage’s 
household, and very soon she was whirling away to town. 

“ If I find I must stay over,” she reflected, “ I can send 
Mr. Droy word, and he can bring me news of my father.” 

Madame Rollins being first on her list, and decidedly 
the most important, Constance took a hansom from Forty- 
second street directly to the abode of skill and elegance 
on lower Fifth Avenue bearing Madame’ s name in gilt 
script on the balcony, with no demeaning prefix or fur- 
ther explanation. The message “from Miss Armitage, 
of Fernliills,” taken in by the alert “ Buttons,” brought 
Madame herself into the room, and her reception of Con- 
stance showed that so far her change of fortune was un- 
known — and Constance, with a faint spirit of mischief, 
enjoyed leaving the modiste to find it out when and how 
she could. It seemed natural enough that as a “ friend ” 
she was attending to Miss Armitage’s commissions. 

The dresses, Madame declared, were very nearly fin- 
ished; but really, to show them at once was impossible! 
Could not Miss Reade come back later? Accordingly 
Constance started on her other errands, still vaguely hop- 
ing that all might be concluded before night, and insisting 
that at half-past four o’clock she would expect everything 
to be ready for her inspection. 

Never was shopping harder to get through. Constance 
had decided to present herself at Mr. Cargill’s at luncheon- 
time to ensure finding him at home, and accordingly she 
timed her work so that half-past one found her at the door 
of his house in Fourteenth street. The servant answering 
the door informed her a telephone message from Miss Ar- 
mitage had preceded her, and that, as it seemed likely she 
would have to remain, a room had been prepared. Con- 
stance under any other circumstances would have felt this 
only another proof of her employer’s thoughtful kindness. 


MR. CARGILL “INTERVIEWS” TIIE COMPANION. 155 


Now, however, she felt sure it was a tacit “ command ” 
for her not to return. 

“ This way, if you please, Miss,” said the housekeeper — 
an elderly, motherly-looking woman who was summoned. 
“ Except it be Mrs. Ord, we don’t have many lady visitors, 
so you’ll excuse any little things as may be wanting. I 
understand Miss Armitage may be down within a month 
or so, and we’ll have to brighten things up a bit.” 

Constance assured the woman that the large, somewhat 
faded-looking room into which she was ushered on the 
second floor was all that she could desire. All was scrupu- 
lously neat and orderly, and when our heroine had laid 
aside her things she was ready to go down to the dining- 
room, where Mr. Cargill was already waiting for her. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MR. CARGILL “INTERVIEWS” THE COMPANION. 

Mr. Cargill, to Constance’s quick vision, looked as 
though even the expression she remembered last on his 
thin, handsome, scholarly face had never altered, so un- 
changed did he appear ; but before the first quarter of an 
hour had elapsed she detected a subtle difference even in 
his tone of voice, when he addressed her. Familiarity it 
could not be called ; but the tone indicated something less 
indifferent than she had expected, and if such icy features 
could be said to express any warmth, Constance would 
have fancied their expression less frigid than when she 
had seen them before. Whereas, then there had been 
only an air of intense relief at settling upon any compan- 
ion for his ward, he now seemed more or less personally 
gracious ; and when the soup and cutlets, which made 
the luncheon decidedly substantial, were removed and 


15G 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


fruit and coffee placed before them, the master of the 
house actually roused himself to inquire whether any- 
thing was to be done for the birthday. 

“ I hope that my ward,” he observed, “ will have the 
good taste to do everything on that occasion moderately. 
Pray, if you have any influence, use it to restrain her 
from making too much display at that time. She will leave 
off her mourning, I understand. Now, I trust this does not 
mean a sudden eruption — of red and yellow, for example.” 

“ Oh, no,” Constance answered, smilingly, as her host 
had spoken with an infinite sarcasm in his tone, announc- 
ing his utter lack of faith in his ward’s discretion. “I 
have been to the dressmaker’s this morning. Everything, 
I assure you, is in excellent taste, Mr. Cargill. No one 
could question it.” 

“Ah, that is well. Now, then, my dear young lady, 
you will take back with you, if you please, a letter to my 
ward. Tell her I cannot do as she asks— cannot even 
give her the smaller case of jewels ; it would not be safe. 
Moreover, I am acting under instructions from her late 
uncle. Nothing of the kind was to be given her until this 
birthday. After that she can wear as many as she likes, 
anywhere she likes, and it will not trouble me. I will be 
at Fernhills on Friday afternoon, you can tell her — Satur- 
day being her birthday, I suppose there will be very little 
time to attend to business, but I can go about the place; 
and Monday Miss Armitage will be down in New York 
with me, signing certain papers — in fact, relieving me, 
finally, from all responsibility.” He hesitated an instant, 
his delicate brows drawing together slightly, before he said, 
in the same cool tone of voice : “ By the way, do you think 
my ward has any matrimonial projects on hand ? I know 
very little of her personal life, you see.” 

“ I — I hardly think so,” answered Constance, feeling 
that she had no right to speak of what was a mere sur- 
mise, so far, on her own part. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING . 


157 


“ Oh, I merely hazarded the question,” said Mr. Cargill, 
indifferently, “ because I had an idea, a hope , I might say, 
that there was something settled between herself and 
John Fenton. It seemed likely, and perfectly appropriate. 
I have no doubt, however, it is all right. Fenton quite 
understands it, and it is better not to seem in too much 
haste.” 

Constance was silent, well aware that the union sug- 
gested must be a “ fitting ” one, since even Mr. Cargill re- 
garded it so complacently and as likely to occur. 


CHAPTER XL. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

Constance decided to employ the time before visiting 
Madame Rollins in hunting up certain books on Horti- 
culture for Clare Coleman. She was never proof against 
the temptations of shop-windows, and many and alluring 
were those she passed by. She was deep in the study of 
some dainty Dresden china in a store near Union Square 
when her name was pronounced, and she turned to see 
John Fenton. 

u Where did you come from ?” exclaimed Constance. 

“By what miracle of luck did I find you!” was his an- 
swer; and he went on: “I have only two hours at my 
disposal. How can we spend it? I want a talk with 
you, but I have to take an earlier train than I expected, to 
Fernhills. I have just been sending off a dispatch to my 
cousin, lest I take her too much by surprise. Now, where 
can we go ?” 

He seemed to consider Constance entirely at his dis- 
posal ; but, remembering Madame Rollins, she said : 


158 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ I am in town on Miss Armitage’s business.” 

“ Nonsense !” he replied. <fc Do you mean to say that 
when Fate has been so very kind in giving us this chance 
for an 4 outing’ we will let mere shopping — I presume that 
is it — interfere with our enjoyment? No!” He glanced 
at his watch. “I have two whole hours of freedom, and 
I intended employing them in selecting an appropriate 
gift for the birthday ; so, if you will aid me by your ad- 
vice, surely that will be fulfilling your idea of a service to 
my cousin.” 

He turned, and a moment later they were walking side 
by side up Broadway, their destination Tiffany’s. 

It seemed one of those rare occasions which justify us 
in accepting all that they produce of happiness for the 
moment, with no dread or thought of penalty in the fu- 
ture, and Constance could as easily have shut her eyes to 
the fairness of the sky above them, or to the verdure and 
bloom in the parks, as to the simple pleasure of this walk 
at Fenton’s side. And though, equally with herself, Fen- 
ton knew it to be but a transient satisfaction, an experi- 
ence which must be forgotten, certainly not soon repeated, 
yet he gave himself up as unreservedly, for the time being, 
to what he considered a “ glimpse of the unattainable.” 
Surely, though his lines were laid with cruel severity in 
places far from the side of this congenial, spirited, yet gen- 
tle young creature, yet he need not deny himself the happi- 
ness to be found in one unpremeditated meeting — in what 
appeared to any passer-by the most prosaic of afternoon 
promenades. Suddenly Constance turned to find him 
looking at her with subdued merriment. 

“ What would our Fernhills friends say to behold us at 
this moment!” he said, with such complete satisfaction 
of tone and manner that Constance felt more than ever 
akin to his frame of mind. “ Here we are, both supposed 
to be deep in the mysteries of shopping for the birthday ! 
As for myself, I never felt more completely inclined to a 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING . 


159 


merely vagrant employment of time. What a pity you 
have lunched ! How about to-morrow — ” 

“ But/’ exclaimed Constance, “ you go to Fernhills this 
afternoon.” 

“ Never mind !” He was conscious of an entirely new 
spirit of recklessness. “ That is not of the smallest im- 
portance — I can come back again ! I can be down here 
by noon, and return with you, if necessary ; but I scarcely 
think that will be until Friday.” 

“ No,” she said, finally, and trying not to look at him ; 
“ I cannot encourage that, Mr. Fenton ; there are so many 
things to do. No !”■ — she smiled, now, and lifted her eyes 
with childlike candor to his face — “you must not tempt 
me ! I must not allow you to think simply of my amuse- 
ment ; and I know Miss Armitage has a great deal for you 
to do. Why ” — she broke off suddenly, glad of an excuse 
to laugh and change the subject, for Fenton’s brows had 
drawn together in some vexation — “ Miss Armitage has 
given me a special commission I nearly forgot ; I was to 
think of an appropriate gift for her to make to every one, 
I believe, on the famous birthday. Can you not help 
me?” 

“Perhaps — I will see.” 

Fenton felt a certain sense of relief, and, now that Con- 
stance had proven firm, was thinking she had acted very 
wisely in not making any appointment for the morrow. 
It w r as another proof, certainty, of her calmly-ordered nat- 
ure which, somehow, he found hard to reconcile with a 
look he had surprised now and then in those very darkly- 
fringed and beautiful eyes, which she seemed to like to 
keep averted ; but there was no question, he told himself, 
but that it was better so. Anything beyond a very kindly, 
useful sort of friendship was not only out of the question 
but not in the least according to the plan he had laid down 
for himself. 

“Why not suggest her being photographed, and then, 


160 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


in suitable frames, distributing the fair presentment to 
her subjects ?” Fenton said, suddenly. They had walked 
a short distance now in silence, and he paused before a case 
wherein one face from a dozen angles was reproduced by 
the most modern of “newest” processes. 

“ Excellent ! Will there be time ?” 

“ Oh, yes. There is a man in Gelston who does very 
creditable work, and his joy would know no bounds if ho 
received an order from Miss Armitage. I don’t doubt he’d 
cheerfully sit up every night for a week, if necessary, to 
complete the number. Yes,” he added, with a half smile, 
“my cousin will quite enjoy making a present of this 
kind. Now, then, here we are at Tiffany’s, Miss Reade. 
Tell me what I had best select.” 

“ Oh, you must have some idea,” said Constance, as they 
entered the great emporium together. “ Surely — ” 

“ Not the smallest ghost of one,” he said, indifferently, 
“ except that I want to be sure of pleasing her.” 

“ Then I can advise — a very little,” was Constance’s 
quick answer. “No one, I am sure, values a gift from 
any one they care for which has not something 'personal 
about it. I mean suggestive, you know — ” 

“ Indeed ! But how can I combine something valu- 
able — for that it must be, you know — with your idea of 
delicacy ?” 

“ Oh ! let us look.” 

They moved slowly about the store, pausing occasion- 
ally to look in this or that case. 

“Ah I what a delightful little ring!” Constance said, 
suddenly. Fenton bent to look at it, and the clerk pro- 
duced the tray wherein it shone like a strange, pale star 
from some forgotten world. The stone was light red, with 
a hundred changing lights, none of which rested long or 
deeply enough upon its surface to determine their hue; 
but in the very centre it gathered depth and form, and 
there rested a tiny glitter of deepest crimson. The setting 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING . 


161 


was a slender cord of gold. Involuntarily Constance had 
drawn off her glove and slipped the little ring, with its 
curious, shining stone, upon her third finger, stretching 
out her slim hand gayly for Fenton’s inspection. Fenton 
longed to say “ Keep it there ! Let me give you that, 
and choose for my cousin later.” But this, of course, all 
idea of conventionality and propriety forbade ; and that 
such was completely out of Constance’s mind was evi- 
denced by the way she drew it off, saying, with a sigh, 
u I wish it were mine ! I should like some one I cared for 
to give me that ! It looks like an imprisoned bit of one’s 
very heart. Why not give it to your cousin ?” She added 
this suddenly, seeing that Fenton was still examining the 
trinket. 

“ Helen ! Well, would she like all that it implies?” 

Constance bent her face under pretense of examining 
one of the lower cases and said, carelessly, “ You could 
define it — if, indeed, that is necessary.” 

Fenton made no answer. He moved further down, 
examined a few articles below, and returned to say, in a 
matter-of-fact, rather bored tone : 

“ I have just seen something ; will you look at it ?” 

The clerk to whom he had spoken placed a dark-green 
case upon the counter. Within it was a note-book bound 
in finest black russia, the clasps and corner ornaments 
of richly-chased gold, with here and there the flash and 
sparkle of tiny gems, a rim of turquoise setting off the 
gold plate in the centre for the owner’s initials. It was 
very beautiful, and sufficiently costly to cover the ground 
of Fenton’s idea as to what a birthday gift for Helen Ar- 
mitage should be, and certainly it could not fail to please 
her. Constance had scarcely pronounced in its favor be- 
fore Fenton said, carelessly, U I would like the initials 
‘ C. R.’ on the plate.” And then, as Constance smiled, he 
added, apparently not at all embarrassed, “ Am I losing 
my senses, I wonder? That is a proof of Doctor What’s- 

11 


162 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Ins-name’s theory that we do not speak from the impulse 
but the undercurrent of the mind.” He turned to the clerk 
and said “ t H. A.’ are the initials.” 

“ You should say 1 from J. F.,’ ” suggested Constance. 

“ Oh, yes — that, I suppose, is the proper way,” agreed 
Fenton, and he proceeded to write it down for the clerk, 
with his address at Lower Gelston, to which “ abode of 
plenty ” he remarked to Constance, “ it had best be sent.” 

“ That is all of the earth’s surface I can call my own,” 
he went on, as they emerged into Broadway once again ; 
“ the farm-house in which I was born, and where I have 
really known some happy days.” 

Constance was wishing he would be somewhat reminis- 
cent when their eyes simultaneously fell upon a timepiece 
close by, and which pointed to four o’clock. 

“ I have barely time to be at Madame Rollins’, now,” 
she exclaimed, annoyed with herself that she had in reality 
nearly forgotten her engagement, “And ohj Mr. Fenton, 
how can I get a message at once to Mr. Droy ? I am to 
be in town to-night, you know, and would like so much 
to see him.” 

“The messenger service is best,” said Fenton. “Give 
me your message, if you must be at the dressmaker’s so 
soon, and I will dispatch it.” 

“ Oh, anything which tells him I am at Mr. Cargill’s, 
to-night, and would like so much to see him.” 

And once again Fenton felt grateful that he had not 
drifted too far in this pleasant tete-a-tete walk with an un- 
usually charming companion, but who had no doubt been 
all along eager for the evening whose long hours might be 
passed in the society of the very brilliant and fascinating 
Mr. Martin Droy. 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 


163 


CHAPTER XLI. 

A SURPRISE PARTY. 

John Fenton, on leaving Constance at Madame Rollins’ 
door, made his way with some haste to his bachelor quar- 
ters on Fifteenth street, which he shared with a friend. 
The friend was an architect in favor of that thoroughly 
new order of things which revives so much of the old, and 
the house in which he and his friend had the second floor 
had been remodelled according to Palisley’s idea, so that 
it presented a quaintly projecting window, a very low but 
artistic doorway, and a general suggestion of tiles and pot- 
tery, blue and green, and white and gold — all rather more 
fanciful than Fenton quite cared for, but, as he was won’t 
to declare, Palisley “ made up for it” by being a thoroughly 
good companion, never boring one for all his “isms,” and 
having a considerable amount of common sense tucked 
away in the midst of all his very effervescent culture. The 
secret of Fenton’s liking for the young man was known 
best to themselves, and had sprung from his having 
nursed the “lad,” as he was then, through a bad attack 
of Roman fever, the result of a much more dangerous one 
of losing all the money on his not too large a letter of 
credit, one night, in the Eternal City. Fenton, having de- 
livered him from the jaws of double death in this fashion, 
had come to regard him as, to a certain extent, his natural 
charge, although as a matter of fact, until he had been ill 
three days, he had not been fully aware of his patient’s 
name and address. 

As Fenton let himself into the quaint house he became 
aware, from a careless strumming on the piano, that Palis- 
ley was within, but he was entirely unprepared to find 
him acting as host for a party of ladies who, seated about 


164 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


the cheerful room, lent it an air of social festivity which 
Palisley so often declared it lacked. 

“ Hello! old man !” said Palisley, springing up; “glad 
to see you.” And as he was about to present the ladies, 
one of them smiled so very agreeably that Fenton remem- 
bered her at once. 

“ How do you do, Mrs. Colestoun,” he said, offering his 
hand. “ Coming in from the light — ” 

“ Oh, I know !” said Tom Colestoun’s wife, moving aside 
her pretty draperies so that Fenton could take a place be- 
side her ; “ and I don’t expect you to remember me par- 
ticularly, Mr. Fenton. We only meet once or twice in the 
century, you know ; but I am so glad to see you now .” 

Meanwhile Palisley had begun the other introductions. 

“ I am so particularly glad to see you,” Mrs. Colestoun 
continued, “as I shall be visiting a neighbor of yours 
shortly — my cousin, Mrs. Bromley Colestoun, you know.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! She lives near Garth Centre, I believe.” 

“Yes.” A pause, during which, under cover of Palis- 
ley’s light chatter with the others, Alicia lowered her voice 
and said, in a tone half-deprecating, half-interrogative: 
“And another person, no doubt a mutual friend — that 
poor little Miss Reade. I have felt so interested in her, 
and so anxious to know more of her.” 

Fenton said that so far as he knew, Miss Reade was 
quite well and in “excellent hands.” “ Miss Armitage, 
you see,’’ he observed quietly, “who, by the way, is my 
cousin several times removed, realizes her good fortune in 
securing Miss Reade’s companionship; but if you are 
coming to Gelston, you can judge of all this for yourself.” 

“Precisely! And I intend to!” There was just the 
merest suspicion of a glitter in Mrs. Colestoun’s charming 
blue eyes. Its suggestion annoyed Fenton, who disliked 
to think that Constance might be subjected to a micro- 
scopic inspection from anybody, much less Mrs. Thomas 
Colestoun. 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 


165 


“ No doubt !” Fenton smiled gravely, and was turning 
over in his mind some means of preventing any annoy- 
ance for Constance, when Mrs. Colestoun, who had been 
observing him narrowly, said, in her softest voice : 

“The girl’s position is a difficult one, Mr. Fenton, as I 
happen to know. I am acquainted with her family — that 
is, her father’s second wife and step-daughter. People 
more utterly unlike Miss Reade than these two women it 
is difficult to imagine.” 

She had taken her cue admirably from Fenton’s man- 
ner, and his interest was no longer concealed. He was 
really anxious to know more of Constance’s family, that 
he might be of more service ; and Mrs. Colestoun, who 
cared not by what means she roused and held the atten- 
tion of the man she intended to be of service to her in 
Garth Centre, Chester, or Gelston itself, held forth on the 
subject of the Reades, presenting to her companion’s men- 
tal vision a picture of opulence, vulgarity, and scorn of 
Constance which represented her idea of the Reades, whose 
hospitality she was nevertheless determined to make use 
of whenever it was or could be of the smallest service. 
The gorgeous marble house was described; they had 
about completed its purchase ; the coming autumn would 
see them installed therein. “And I don’t believe,” said 
Mrs. Colestoun, with her pretty smile, “ they know a dozen 
people in all New York.” 

“ Oh, no matter — ” Fenton was about to utter a pla- 
giarism which was appropriate when very rich people are 
discussed, when the servant entered with a telegram ad- 
dressed to himself. He made the necessary excuses and 
withdrew to a side window, where he read a brief but per- 
emptory summons from the person in charge of his farm- 
house : 

“Be at Garvery , if possible, to-night. 

“ T. Norman Browning.” 


16G 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ What can have happened ?” he reflected, tossing the 
paper into the waste-basket. Browning was never rash or 
inconsequent in his action ; still, as he knew of the pro- 
jected visit to Fernhills, the telegram was not of necessity 
alarming. But there was no time to lose; and having 
bidden every one good-bye, explaining briefly to Palisley 
the nature of his summons, Fenton made all haste to take 
a train for Lower Gelston, which would bring him to the 
old farm-house, named years ago after a place his father 
had known and loved in Ireland, “ Garvery Lodye” 


CHAPTER XLII. 

GARVERY. 

There are some people of both sexes for whom the pos- 
session of a house, no matter how seldom they can be 
within its four walls, has much the same attraction as 
others find in railway stocks or Government securities; 
and John Fenton, while not at all disdaining the latter, 
and devoutly wishing he were the possessor of more of 
that useful scrip which represents so largely the power 
and prosperity of the land, was one of those human be- 
ings I have referred to to whom the absolute possession 
of a house and bit of land all his own — to be called and 
known as his home — thought of — longed for when absent 
— cherished and enjoyed from time to time, if even in fugi- 
tive visits — was an unalterable, ever-buoyant source of de- 
light; and on the June evening when, in answer to his 
friend’s telegram, he presented himself at his own gate- 
way, even his anxiety as to the cause of this unexpected 
summons gave way before that feeling of restful content 
which the very doorway of his old farm-house was sure to 
bring. 


GAB VERY. 


167 


The building was a low, irregular, two-story structure 
of graystone, with a wide, well-covered porch running all 
around it, a chimney built in the early part of the last 
century jutting out almost like a tower at one side, and 
the windows under the eaves in the second -story combin- 
ing &11 the charm of a quaint period of architecture with 
the comfort of modern appliances, in that they swung 
open easily, and while they added to the picturesque ef- 
fect of the old house did not, like so many ornamental 
devices, deprive it either of air or light. A rose-tree had 
clambered well up at one side of the porch and to the 
upper windows, and the rich purple of the Wisteria gave 
bloom and color to the other end. In front, beyond the 
driveway, was a small but fine bit of velvety lawn, in the 
midst of which an oak tree which was Fenton’s pride 
spread its branches, while a few flower-beds right and left 
showed care and skill as well as taste, the more productive 
gardens lying beyond. So far the place had half paid its 
way, helping Fenton to keep a man and his wife in 
charge, as well as his friend Browning, who lived there 
for the love of solitude or a chance to keep in good health 
and activity, really enjoying farm-life for itself, as all true 
farmers should, but at the same time not at all averse to 
seeing his labors profitable. The business part of the farm 
was conducted upon a very safe and simple basis. So long 
as it did not run him in debt, and gave him his home, 
Fenton was content that Browning should make what he 
could out of it. As a result, they paid Mr. and Mrs. Hux- 
ley between them, kept a horse or two and a couple of 
“ rigs,” while Browning had even contrived by his very 
clever management to lay by a dollar or two, and keep 
himself going in comfort. He was a fine, tall, broad- 
shouldered young man, verging on thirty, without any su- 
perfluous sentiment, and yet with as good a heart as ever 
beat in this work-a-day world, and which showed itself in 
the gentleness of his brown eyes and the kindliness of his 


168 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


quiet smile — both rather a surprise when one looked at the 
big bony frame, and heard the full, hearty tones of his 
voice. He held out his hand to Fenton directly the lat- 
ter appeared, welcoming him with all his wonted cor- 
diality, and evidently not too much cast down, by what- 
ever news he might bring, to be cheery and brisk in his 
greeting. 

“The dispatch was just in time.” Fenton paused an 
instant in the doorway of Garvery and looked at his 
friend anxiously. 

“ Come in,” said Browning, cheerily. “ Mrs. Huxley has 
what she calls your supper ready.” 

Fenton possessed his soul in patience until the last of 
the excellent meal of fried chicken, well-browned pota- 
toes, apple-tart, sherry and coffee had been disposed of, 
lit his pipe, and led the way out to the veranda, where at 
last Browning, who had grown curiously grave during the 
last quarter of an hour, said, in a quiet voice : 

“ I sent for you, Fenton, because 1 Bert ’ has turned up 
again ; he wants to come here.” 

Fenton laid his pipe down on the bench at his side and 
leaned back in his chair, all the passion of his nature 
seeming to be concentrated in the eyes beneath his frown- 
ing brows. For an instant the silence seemed almost op- 
pressive. Then at last he turned his face, still dark with 
anger, towards young Browning. 

“After all that has come and gone!” he exclaimed, 
thrusting his hands in his pockets and beginning to walk 
about the wide old porch, now shadowy except where 
the flicker of Mrs. Huxley’s lamp fell here and there. 
“After all . Where is he?” He turned suddenly, and 
Browning, who was looking anxiously ahead of him, said 
slowly : 

“ Down at Duke’s.” He saw the start Fenton could not 
repress and added, in a voice tender as a woman's : “ Fen- 
ton, see here. I’ve a feeling lie’s in some sort of trouble, 


GAR VERY. 


169 


and it seems to me, if you go down there, you should be 
careful not to frighten him into lying about it. ” 

Fenton passed his hand over his brow with a dreary 
laugh. 

“ You’re right, Browning ! I need the caution I Why 
is it, though, the same blood runs in both our veins? I 
feel he is such an alien, except that — No, I can't trust 
him ! I’ll go over there, of course — this very night, for I 
dare not wait — until I know all that he has to say ; but 
how much I shall believe of the story he may choose to 
tell I can’t say at present.” 

“ I’m not over-credulous myself at any time,” observed 
Browning ; “ all the same, I’m inclined — when I look at 
him, you know — to take some stock in the story of this 
failure. I guess you will, too. Yes, I think you might as 
well go to-night.” 

Fenton put on his hat, relit the discarded meerschaum, 
and was presently striding across the fields in the direc- 
tion of a small, not over-reputable public house, whose 
proprietor, a man named Jerry Duke, occasionally let 
rooms and gave board to customers whom he could trust 
not only as good or prompt pay, but as “ men of honor,” 
who would not be squeamish over certain practices be- 
hind the bar, and who could handle a card or two with a 
stranger, and “make it all square.” This being the char- 
acter and nature of the tavern known only as “Duke’s,” 
in Garth county, it can readily be inferred that it had few 
patrons of Mr. Fenton’s class, and as a matter of fact only 
the stern necessity of the case would have induced the 
master of Garvery to cross its threshold. Duke had his 
own reasons for holding and keeping warm an ancient 
grudge against Fenton, and equally for appearing very 
civil just at present. To offend the gentleman was not his 
“game,” as he reflected, “ for a bit yet.” But the oily 
suavity with which he prepared to receive his unaccus- 
tomed guest, as from his own doorway he beheld him ap- 


170 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


proaching, did not delude Fenton for an instant. He pre- 
ferred the ill-will to the good-will of such a man as Jere- 
miah Duke; and, but that he w T ould not condescend to 
bandy words with him, he would at any time have boldly 
expressed in public his opinion of a man who encouraged 
every other man in the village, married and single, to dis- 
sipate his wages in play and drink. 

As he turned the stile of the last field, Fenton had re- 
solved to be as patient as he could, at least until ‘‘Bert” 
had told his story; and in coming to this resolve thoughts 
of a distant past had risen to guide his decision — thoughts 
in which he remembered how he had learned his first lesson 
of “ knighthood,” so to speak, from Bert's mother, “the 
sweetest woman that ever drew breath," so he had always 
spoken, thought of her, and who had been his father's sec- 
ond wife — more to him than his own mother, who had 
died when he was born. Bert's mother had been the only 
woman he had called by that sweet name. She had mar- 
ried his father when he was a child six years of age. Bert 
was born four years later, and with her last breath she 
had said to the boy, who had watched her with eyes dim 
from weeping, “Jack, I leave Bertie to you, dear. Make 
a good boy of him” 

It was a trust as sacred as though the angels above had 
visibly, to his childish gaze, witnessed it ; and with the 
persistency and quiet method which marked Fenton even 
then, he set about fulfilling what he believed to be an ob- 
ligation, certainly seemed a cherished duty and meant a 
hope. Little Bert, beautiful as an unwinged cherub, ador- 
able in manner in spite of a distinct objection to every- 
thing like government and discipline, cheerfully allowed 
his half-brother to pet, amuse and spoil him to his heart’s 
content, but permitted no such familiarity as dictating to 
him might involve. After a brief struggle the boys — who, 
it chanced, were brought up separately, Bert residing with 
an aunt of his mother’s and Fenton with his uncle and 


GAR VERY. 


171 


guardian— drifted into the attitudes they had, with slight 
differences, maintained ever since. Bert went his own 
way, serene and reckless ; Fenton his path, marked by 
such influences as helped to mould his finely-proportioned 
nature into what it was to-day. Bert accepted everything 
his step-brother was willing to bestow, even including the 
good advice he seldom acted upon, and as he grew older, 
with a degree of cunning which now and then even those 
he imposed most upon discovered, hid from Fenton his 
more glaring follies, adapting himself, with a facility which 
was a fatal gift, to almost any and every circumstance in 
life, making friends as readily as we gather perishable 
wayside bloom, and never realizing, if he cared, that he 
could or did of his own fault lose them. Perfect health 
combined with this easy nature and versatility of resource, 
added to an unusual amount of good looks, made Bertie 
Gibbons — as, from his adoption by old Mrs. Gibbons, he 
was generally called — popular wherever he was known or 
had chosen to go ; and that the causes of more recent alien- 
ation from Fenton were known only to a limited few, who 
would never spread the tale, was but another instance of 
the strange fate which had so long befriended Bertie Gib- 
bons’ most reckless escapades. In plain English, the 
young man had used his half-brother’s name on paper 
which, for every reason, Fenton had redeemed ; but he 
had made the crime the less pardonable, or I had better 
say more peculiarly offensive, by representing Fenton as 
acquiescing in a transaction from which he would. have 
shrunk disgusted with the mere idea. It was “filibuster- 
ing” of the crudest sort. How even the plausible and 
convincing Bertie had managed to make such a scheme 
successful at all was one of the mysteries; hut Fenton had 
been compelled to come to his rescue when otherwise open 
disgrace would have followed, and to measure his scorn 
of the transgressor would have been impossible had not 
there yet lingered an echo of the dying charge which he 


172 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


still considered imperative as a duty — resistless as a com- 
mand. To scorn Bertie Gibbons to his face was impos- 
sible — even Fenton had never tried that; and to make 
him actively penitent was difficult. Reform, Bertie now 
realized, was necessary, having so narrowly escaped detec- 
tion from the consequences of which even his brother’s 
generosity could not have saved him. He might have 
reflected that he owed some practical recompense to the 
relative who had temporarily, at least, nearly crippled 
himself to save him from ruin ; but Bertie was so consti- 
tuted that he considered “ Jack ” had all the reward he 
could possibly desire in having delivered him from dan- 
ger — to use his own phrase, u set him on his feet again 
and if he thought about reform or steadiness of habit it 
was chiefly because he realized at least the overwhelming 
fact that the doors of State’s Prison had almost opened — 
as they had every right to do — to receive him for twenty 
years to come. This idea had the result of causing fits 
of spasmodic terror, from time to time, which produced 
a very keen, quiet, energetic Bertie Gibbons in place of the 
careless, smiling, easy-going young gentleman who looked 
like an expatriated blue-eyed Spaniard who had forgotten 
his native tongue, and whose chief object in life was to 
live up to the suggestion of his Byronic profile and some- 
what delicate constitution. Profession, Bertie had none; 
but that general cleverness of his could take almost any 
form, and aid him in any branch of business he chose to 
follow. What he did not know he always contrived to 
skim lightly past or around; what he did know he dis- 
played to an advantage which made it seem a cruel ine- 
quality of circumstance that he should not have all things 
done according to his planning and requirement. He was 
shrewd where other men are merely prudent, and there- 
fore apt to play a losing game; and if he seemed at times 
unequal to any subject under discussion and compelled to 
silence, when he did speak it was with a convincing elo- 


GARVERY. 


173 


quence few could resist. Given a conscience which is 
only roused by the picturesque and emotional, and 
with such characteristics as Bertie Gibbons’, you have a 
nature of which it is safe to predict almost anything, 
since an undeserved and honorable eminence is some- 
times reached by dint of its genius and effrontery ; and 
at the same time crime of a noiseless but very definite 
character is not inconceivable — rather to be looked for 
and feared. 

Fenton, as he came directly in view of Duke's shiftless- 
looking place, was keenly, deplorably aware that his very 
wisest resolutions might give way before the charm of 
Bertie’s presence, the peculiar fascination which was not 
the smallest effort at any time for the young man to ex- 
ercise; but he steeled himself to a manner in which at 
least there looked no suggestion of softness or relenting. 
He could look, as we know, decidedly hard to combat, 
at times, even where his inner nature longed to be all 
pliable and gentle ; and he had now no condoning influ- 
ences at work. But for the long-ago promise to the 
mother lying out in the Garth churchyard Fenton would 
not even have satisfied Bertie by this visit. 

Mr. Duke had seen him coming and was on his door- 
step, bland, red-faced, and in thorough good-humor. He 
and Bertie Gibbons had talked over many things the past 
half-hour, during which time Bertie had wisely resisted the 
landlord’s efforts to induce u good cheer ” in the way of 
refreshment, for he knew Fenton well enough to be sure 
that no quarter or mercy would be shown if he found his 
step-brother otherwise than entirely himself. Mr. Duke, 
however, as he put it, “ had nothing to fear and no cause to 
hinder;” but he was just now so far anxious to please the 
master of Garvery that he kept his eye and tongue and 
hand in steady order. 

u Glad to see you, Mister Fenton,” was the landlord’s 
greeting. “The gentleman — Mr. Gibbons— is right up- 


174 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


stairs ; he ain’t very well just at present. The first door 
on your right, sir.” 

And Fenton passed on, up the narrow staircase, paus- 
ing just an instant before knocking upon his brother’s door. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

BERTIE. 

A clear frank voice bade him enter. Bertie, who had 
evidently been lying down, half-rose from the horsehair 
sofa as Fenton entered, putting down his pipe near a glass 
of weak brandy-and-water at his side. 

Two years had gone by since their last meeting, and if 
they had not brought any moral change they had seemed 
to make of the boy Bertie, as he had looked then, a man 
who had seen life and done battle with it ; but the same 
character remained in his wonderfully handsome face, 
with its Southern type — the dark eyes so deeply blue as 
to seem at times black ; the skin a transparent olive ; the 
hair black and wavy ; the features cut as if for a cameo or 
an ideal hero of romance ; and that Bertie seemed to be 
entirely indifferent to his good looks gave them an added 
charm. He could look unutterable things out of his half- 
sleep3 r , beautiful eyes without seeming in the least aware 
that in form and color they were bewitching ; and if he 
paid heed to his toilette he did so as though from an in- 
stinct of fastidiousness which had nothing to do with 
vanity or a desire to please. In fact Bertie Gibbons had 
among his many faults one positive virtue — a sort of re- 
finement which made shabby clothing, untidy dress or 
surroundings so unpleasant that he preferred debt to en- 
during them, and accordingly he never personally gave 
offence. His costume now, though somewhat worn, was 


BERTIE. 


175 


perfectly in order ; the brand of tobacco he was smoking 
was the best, and the hand he promptly extended to Fen- 
ton was manicured as carefully as a young girl’s might 
have been, although it was not only sunbrowned to a tint 
much darker than his face but looked — wonderful to re- 
late ! — as though it had actually done some heavy manual 
labor not very long ago. 

“ Well — ” Fenton, strive as he might, could not infuse 
much cordiality into his greeting. “ As you promised me 
so faithfully to stay West for three or four years, Bertie, I 
sujjpose something very remarkable must have brought 
you East again.” 

Bertie laughed, and then rising and standing near the 
chimney-piece, gazed down in silence for a moment or 
two upon his brother, who, truth to tell, was feeling a 
spasm of compunction, as it was impossible to deny that 
young Gibbons was looking ill. Whatever had brought 
him here, it was certainly not great physical vigor ; and 
for all the weakness in the face, it held a strange look of 
the step-mother Fenton had loved ! When Bertie smiled, 
when he laughed, the spell of their childhood came back; 
and Fenton, drawing a deep breath, put his hand on the 
young man’s shoulder and looked down gravely, sadly, 
but not unkindly, into his brother’s handsome, care-worn 
face. 

“Well, my lad, what is it? Come! tell me the truth” 
he said gravely ; “ that I insist upon. I want to know just 
what brought you home. Don’t — ” for Bertie’s face had 
flushed and then paled — “ for God’s sake, Bertie ; for your 
mother’s sake, don’t lie to me. Whatever you may have 
to tell, let it be the truth and all the truth ! Don’t be 
afraid of me.” 

For an instant Gibbons did not move his eyes from his 
brother’s face, nor did Fenton alter the calm, deep inten- 
sity of his own gaze, which if it held as much kindliness 
as he could bring himself to feel yet had its touch of pain 


176 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


— of dread — lest what he had suffered once on Bertie’s ac- 
count must be reflected ; but suddenly flinging himself 
upon the old sofa, Bertie said in a dull, dogged sort of 
tone : 

“ Yes, I will ; I must; I came here, you know, to make 
a clean breast it.” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE SPELL IS BROKEN. 

What young Gibbons had to tell his step-brother was 
not an unusual tale, yet it sent Fenton on his homeward 
way filled with despondency. Bertie, out of work — “ down 
on his luck,” as he had put it — had drifted among a set 
of people who, from his account, were “ good enough in 
their way,” but mentally and socially, and even in that 
remote Western district, utterly uncompanionable. He 
had been ill — he was ill now. He had “ touched a card 
or two,” he admitted, at the place where he had obtained 
work as bookkeeper to a small company, but it was all 
“fair and square;” and the people with whom he had 
boarded had been, as strangers were ever ready to be ? 
very kind to him. As Bertie grew stronger he realized 
(this was his version of the story) that he had been mak- 
ing “rather a fool of himself ” in regard to his host’s 
daughter. “ At least,” he admitted to his patient listener, 
“if he hadn’t actually proposed, he had come so near it 
that they all thought he intended to do so.” 

“Because you cared for her?” demanded Fenton with 
bent brows. “ Was that the reason ?” 

Bertie, who was lying on the sofa with his hands clasped 
behind his head, cast his eyes up to the ceiling in sur- 
prised amusement. 


THE SPELL IS BROKEN. 


177 


“ Good Lord, no ! Jack,” he exclaimed. “ If you saw her, 
poor girl, you would hardly say that. But don’t you know 
how it is? She was so awfully good to me — she and her 
mother; and she was a good girl; and — well you know 
she hadn’t the society woman’s faculty for hiding her 
emotions, and I found out that she was sweet on me be- 
fore I had time to realize it. What could I do? Turn 
around and break her heart?” 

Fenton, with an exclamation which was not usual with 
him in any society, walked over to the window, whence 
he looked at his step-brother for a moment in contempt- 
uous silence. 

“ Break her heart! How had you dared ever to invade 
its very threshold, with no love, as you say, to offer ! You 
staid there, then, taking the kindness, the care, the hospi- 
tality of these simple people, deliberately allowing this 
girl to believe you were in love with her, to put a sorrow 
into her life even time might not heal; for although I am 
very certain any sensible girl would very quickly, on dis- 
covering your true character, Bertie, get over any sentiment 
for you, the harm done is in making her judge better men 
by you — creating a standard whereby to measure the hon- 
esty of some man who would no doubt scorn you utterly 
for what you — well, possibly pride yourself on having so 
easily accomplished !’’ Fenton’s face was flushed and he 
turned aside, resting his arm on the mantel while his very 
soul seemed to be sickened within him. If he seemed 
harsh, he knew he had good reason. 

“Oh, Jiang it all, Jack,” cried Bertie, springing to his 
feet, “come, now ! Are you such a saint that no girl’s face 
or voice or presence ever beguiled you into any folly? 
Maybe when Carrie was around I rather liked her. I 
swear to you I never meant it to go a bit further than 
friendliness. I — yes, I was particular even how I spoke 
or looked, when I found out they thought I meant to offer 
myself; and — good heavens! — I was broken down in 

12 


178 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


health ; I hadn’t a red cent to my name after that last 
confounded affair at Westley’s; and I ask you, what was 
there for me to do?” As Fenton’s silence remained un- 
broken, Bertie, resuming the couch again, continued : “ I 
think I got off very well. I just said I must come East 
at once to see to my business; I thought that would 
let it down easily ; and when you consider that the old 
man had to lend me the wherewithal you’ll admit it 
would have been impossible to make the break all at 
once.” 

“And so — ” Fenton forced himself to remember Bertie 
was not strong enough for too much emotion, but it was 
difficult to restrain his wrath — “ and so you left, after bor- 
rowing his money as an engaged man? I presume you 
promised to return as speedily as possible and claim — your 
fiancee ?” 

“That’s — about it,” assented Bertie. He elevated his 
brows and looked at Fenton as though to ask “What 
next?” 

“And what do you expect to do here?” Fenton inquired, 
still outwardly calm. 

“ Whatever you suggest. Really, Jack, it was the only 
thing on earth left for me to do. I simply couldn't hang 
around the Elbrights any longer ; a prompt break was my 
only salvation.” 

There was silence fora short space of time, broken at 
last by a violent fit of coughing on Bertie’s part which left 
him white and miserably exhausted, and showed Fenton 
that Browning’s advice was not unnecessary. Young Gib- 
bons was really ill ; come what might, he must at once be 
cared for. Fenton paced the floor in anxious silence, de- 
bating — as on Bertie’s account he had so often done before 
— what he had best say or do in regard to the “whole 
business.” It was clearly impossible to leave Bertie down 
here. He was not only too weak physically, but it was no 
place for him at any time, and it had not added to Fen- 


THE SPELL IS BROKEN . 


179 


ton’s peace of mind to learn that the “girl” in question 
was a relative of Jerry Duke’s. 

“That was my first cause for an introduction to her 
father,” Bertie had explained; and Fenton, inwardly 
groaning, could only be thankful that his brother had not 
betrayed the fact to any of Duke’s people here. He was 
altogether too shrewd for that ; his choice of the place had 
been merely because of its being the only hostlery at hand 
within easy reach of Garvery. He had no greater desire 
than Fenton to extend the knowledge of an “ entangle- 
ment ” he was so anxious and determined to have broken 
up as speedily and quietly as possible. 

“You had better. stay where you are at present, any 
way — I mean for to-night,” said Fenton, finally. “ I — I 
will settle the bill before I go home, and then to-morrow I 
may fix it to have you come over to Garvery until we see 
what can be done. Bertie — ’’ Fenton’s voice was hard 
even to harshness as he saw how quickly his younger 
brother’s expression had become entirely satisfied and 
good-humored with the buoyancy of a nature which knows 
no higher force than that of self-indulgence — “ there is to 
be no nonsense, remember, this time. You are merely 
coming to Garvery to get on your feet again before return- 
ing West. I shall myself write to these people. If they 
have been in any way led to suppose you have rich rela- 
tions at command, or any means of your own, I wish them 
to understand precisely what are your resources. Now, 
then, I will be off. Be kind enough — ” as Bertie was about 
to speak — “to say nothing just now of your gratitude, or 
anything of the kind. If you should feel any, you can 
exert it by trying to do what seems to be your duty, and 
above all, by earning an honest living. Good-night. 
You’ll be ready, I suppose, early in the morning, as I 
have important business in the afternoon.” 

A quarter of an hour later, having settled Mr. Duke’s 
bill without question, Fenton was on his homeward way. 


180 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

“the little rift.” 

Constance could scarcely account for the peculiar sense 
of relief she experienced in returning to Fernhills. It 
must be, she reflected, that alien though she was, a sense 
of homelike charm belonged to the stately place. 

Miss Armitage was entertaining company in the draw- 
ing-room, Blake informed Constance, and if she liked 
he would send a cup of tea at once to her room. This 
was very acceptable, and in a short time Constance 
had exchanged her dusty wraps for a cool dressing-gown, 
while Nora, in evident good humor, set forth her little 
tray and gave her all the “ news.” 

“ We’re all so anxious about the birthday, Miss Reade,” 
exclaimed the girl. “ Isn’t it wonderful, Miss, to think of 
so much being, now and forever after, put into a young 
lady’s own hands ! And her so alone, one may say, in 
the world ! Why, she’s not scarcely any cousins , even,” 
added Nora, as though the deficiency had a touch of the 
tragic in it. 

“ Yes, indeed, Nora,” said Constance, who quite shared 
the maid’s enthusiasm on the subject of the coming festi- 
val. “ I hope this birthday will be one of many very 
happy ones to come. I suppose there will be no end of 
presents,” she added. 

“ Oh, Miss, you know we consulted Mr. Fenton and 
Mrs. James about ours. We all wanted to present, as 
Blake says, ‘ a toking of respect and Mr. Fenton quite 
approved, Miss, and said he was sure it would please Miss 
Armitage. We’ve got a most lovely Prayer Book, Miss. 
Oh ! it’s that handsome ! My ! you’d feel most afraid to 
touch the cover, ’les you had gloves on; and in gold 


TIIE LITTLE RIFT” 


181 


lettering on the inside it says ‘ To Miss Helen Augusta Ar- 
mitage — a birthday toking from her devoted servants at 
Fernhills.’ And Mrs. Cooley, she have worked a cushion 
to lay it on ! Mr. Blake’ll present it lying on the cushion.” 

Whether the dignified Mr. Blake or the “ toking” would 
repose on the cushion during the presentation did occur as 
a question to Constance, but observing Nora’s evident 
anxiety on the subject she said, in a moment : 

“ Y ou know I have been here so short a time I hardly feel 
that I had the right to offer much of a present ; but I will 
show you what I got to-day, and I trust it will please her. 
No one has seen it yet, Nora,” she added, with her gentle 
smile ; and Nora looked highly gratified by the confidence. 

It was a dainty pencil-holder of gold and tortoise-shell, 
to be worn as a charm or used in one’s note-book. Con- 
stance had fancied it peculiarly appropriate, and it lay in 
a small tortoise-shell case, itself delicately artistic. 

“ Oh, Miss! that looks just like what an elegant young 
lady’d ought to use !” 

Nora’s verdict was most convincing, and she added : 
11 Miss Armitage, you know, is dreadfully particular about 
every bit of color — and everything. We had dishes, I 
know, once — they belonged, I think, to her uncle. Any- 
way they were a most ugly pattern, and Miss Armitage 
gave orders she w r as never even to hear of them, much less 
see them. Blake said it would have made her quite ill if 
he’d put so much as one of the plates on the table.” 

Nora spoke as though a?i7/catastrophemighthave followed 
such an inadvertence, and went away with the tea-tray, 
still meditating on the importance of this wonderful 
birthday, leaving Constance wondering whether she was 
to see the fair young mistress of the house before they met 
at dinner, and also whether any allusion to Fenton would 
occur ; if so, she must contrive to evade mention of their 
rencontre, since to announce the fact of the visit to Tif- 
fany’s was impossible at present. 


182 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


A knock at the door announced dinner almost before 
Constance had finished dressing, and she found Miss Ar- 
mitage and Mrs. James already in the dining-room, the 
former beaming radiantly with the shower of compliments 
and congratulations of her recent visitors and as engrossed 
with the forthcoming birthday as though it was to be a 
public and national festival. 

“ If it is only clear weather,” she exclaimed, as they left 
the table, “ and my cousin Fenton and Mr. Cargill arrive 
early, I shall be delighted. I declare, Miss Reade,” she 
continued, linking her arm almost affectionately in that 
of her companion’s as they went down the hall to the 
drawing-room, “ if I had thought of it I would have asked 
you to see Jack for me while you were in town.” 

The remembrance of their meeting made Constance give 
a quick movement, and as she lifted her eyes suddenly 
they encountered those of Helen Armitage gazing fixedly 
at her. 

“ I declare — why, did you meet him ?” said the young 
lady in a low and very quiet tone of voice. 

Constance felt miserable for the moment, but she found 
voice to say “ Yes — most unexpectedly — on Broadway.” 
After that a silence which, in reality lasting but a mo- 
ment, seemed to Constance unendurable, was broken by 
Mrs. James’s placid voice, as she inquired whether anyone 
had been to inquire for Mrs. Cooley’s little boy. 

“ No,” said Miss Armitage, slowly withdrawing her eyes 
from Constance Reade’s face. “ But no matter ; I will go 
down there myself.” 

She turned towards the closet where the w T raps were 
kept, and taking a light shawl, drew it loosely about her 
shoulders, and was soon walking with nervous haste 
down the avenue to the gate lodge, her tall, slender figure 
disappearing behind the trees before Constance, in a sort 
of spellbound silence, had moved. 

Constance’s annoyance over this apparent concealment 


AN “AMENDE HO NOE ABLE” 


183 


in regard to Fenton and herself was now deeping to some- 
thing which took the form of actual dread lest it place her 
in a thoroughly false position, and one which Fenton him- 
self would be the very first to deplore, if not actively re- 
sent. But there was no way of explaining matters now, so 
Constance decided to plead fatigue and escape to her own 
room before Miss Armitage’s return; and accordingly, 
giving the placid Mrs. James her excuses, she made haste 
upstairs, devoutly hoping that she should see no more of 
Miss Armitage that night ; nor did she. Two hours passed, 
during which Constance contrived to find occupation in a 
book she had recently taken from the library, and which 
bore Fenton’s name on the fly-leaf — a volume of Balzac.. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

AN “AMENDE HONORABLE.” 

Certainly the weather was all that heart or eye could 
desire on that day so important at Fernhills. Constance, 
as she entered the breakfast-room, was delighted to find 
that apparently all was happy in the minds of the house- 
hold; and as Nora had informed her the “Toking” w r as 
to be presented before breakfast, she was more or less prepared 
for the ceremonial which followed. The door w r as flung 
open. Mr. Blake entered bearing the cushion proudly aloft ; 
and following him were the various domestics, who stood 
at a respectful distance while the talented man delivered 
himself of a little speech, in which it was both humbly and 
proudly hoped that the “ Lady of Fernhills ” might live to 
see a limitless number of birthdays, each one of which 
would increase her “power and prosperity,” her “state 
and beauty,” etc., etc. Helen Armitage blushed beautifully 
under all these compliments and good wishes, but looked 


184 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


intensely gratified and delighted, and really not much 
embarrassed. She had her photographs ready, and with 
a charming grace offered one to each of her retainers, ex- 
pressing a hope that they would remain in her service 
until they would have to look at the picture to remember 
she had ever sat for it; after which Mr. Blake, nearly 
bursting with pride and satisfaction, led his procession 
out of the room more majestically even than he had en- 
tered it, while Constance felt the occasion had come to 
make her little offering. As Nora had predicted, Miss 
Armitage was pleased, not only with the remembrance, 
but with the artistic beauty of the shell-pencil and case 
itself. With a curious strain of something Constance 
could not reconcile with her own ideas of absolute refine- 
ment, and which showed itself so far only in a love of dis- 
play and assertion of power, Helen Armitage had a taste 
which was very nearly faultless — a fastidiousness which 
would have been a grievance had not her wealth and posi- 
tion placed her beyond the fear of its being hurt. 

“And so I only come in with something useful, my 
dear,” said Mrs. James, producing from beneath her 
breakfast-shawl — worn until the actual heats of August — 
a peculiarly ugly, and considering the season inappro- 
priate, “foot-muff” of scarlet and green wool. “ I made it 
myself,” she added, as she handed it to Helen with a smile 
of satisfaction, “ and twenty times have I been afraid you 
would find me working on it.” 

Constance listened, just a trifle shocked by the way in 
which Miss Armitage, who, as “ Jimmy’s” back was turned, 
made a dreadful grimace for her benefit, declared the muff 
was too lovely for anything and she must use it the very 
first day it was the least bit chilly ; and she was not at all 
surprised when, directly breakfast was over and they 
were walking about the garden waiting Mr. Cargill’s arri- 
val, Miss Armitage exclaimed over the utter “hideous- 
ness ” of poor “ Jimmy’s” gift. 


AN “AMENDE HONORABLE 


185 


“ Never mind !” she declared, laughing. “ Like the car- 
riage cushion, I’ll find a place for it! Fancy giving one 
such a thing in midsummer !” 

“ The school-children have a little sort of reception for 
me, you know, later, and I have my photos to give them,” 
she went on. “ It is all very nice. I only dread the long 
talk I must have alone with Mr. Cargill. It has to be a 
confidential conclave, so he says. The dear knows what 
he has to say, but of course I will tell every word of it to 
Fenton, so it seems very stupid not to let him be there at 
— there they are now !” she added suddenly, a quick flush 
of pleasure brightening her whole face as the carriage sent 
for the all-important guests turned the curve in the drive- 
way. A moment later Mr. Cargill, with his most precise 
manner, was congratulating his ward on her “ final ” ma- 
jority, as he expressed it, and Fenton’s few words, quiet 
but evidently deeply felt, followed, while Constance, as the 
cousins entered the house together, contrived to leave Mr- 
Cargill with Mrs. James and seek her own room, anxious 
that Fenton should make his present and restore her to 
Miss Armitage’s fuller if not complete confidence. 

Very soon her summons came. Celerine appeared to 
ask her to go “ at once to Mademoiselle,” and Constance 
joyfully enough obeyed the request, feeling certain all 
would be well. She found Miss Armitage in the happiest 
mood, clearly showing, however, what had been her feeling. 

“ My dear, I quije understand now !” she exclaimed, 
seizing Constance’s hand and embracing her warmly. 
“My consin has given me a most charming present, and 
has been telling me you helped him select it ! Is it not 
beautiful ? And now we must go very soon to the school- 
children. But first let me show you the dresses, which 
have just arrived ; and — ’’her color rose and she added, 
rather shyly, “ you won’t mind, I am sure, my offering 
you my picture as a souvenir of the day, Miss Reade?” 

Constance could but thank her sincerely, as she really 


186 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


felt the compliment intended, and Miss Armitage placed 
three “ Imperials ” before her to choose from. All had 
been the same sitting in different poses. One, which 
showed Helen Armitage’ s profile, delicate and lovely, but 
with an unusual thoughtfulness in the expression, pleased 
Constance the best, and with a little smile Helen said it 
was the duplicate of the one Fenton had chosen. 

“ He said,” she continued, “ that he liked it because it 
was my rarest expression ! He does say such odd things ! 
I often find it hard to fully understand his meaning.” 
They were both silent for a moment ; then rousing her- 
self from evident abstraction, Miss Armitage resumed: 
“ Miss Reade, will you amuse my cousin while I have my 
ordeal with Mr. Cargill? Take him for a walk” — she 
looked but did not say “and repeat your conversation 
later” — and went on, “and please see my dresses. You 
know I don’t want to shock anybody, but really I must 
gradually leave off my black. I am sure no one can com- 
plain that I have not done my duty in this respect.” 
She led the way into the dressing-room where Celerine had 
Madame Rollins’s latest “ creations ” out of the hamper in 
which they had arrived, and Constance was girl enough 
to thoroughly enjoy their elegance and dainty style. 

“ This for to-night,” said Helen, very impressively, as 
Celerine held up a charming gown of black lace over white 
silk, a great deal of the latter being employed in the cor- 
sage. “ To-night we will — you and I, Miss Reade — look 
over the jewels poor Mr. Cargill is so nervous about; but 
he has had a small safe sent up which is to be put in the 
padlocked room, in Blake’s charge. Now, for to-morrow, 
before they go away, I have this morning affair — what 
Rollins calls a ‘little gown’ — of mauve cachemire and 
black velvet ribbons. Some people will be sure to call in 
the afternoon, and as I intend to be actually in colors for 
the Flower Show I’ll begin by wearing a white wool in 
the afternoon and my full set of turquoises.” 


AN 11 AMENDE HONORABLE." 


187 


Her whole manner was as eager as when speaking of 
graver matters, and Constance felt herself more and more 
being drawn into the generally-accepted feeling that every- 
thing connected with Miss Armitage was of vital import- 
ance. 

“We will see the school-children now,” she said, sud- 
denly. “ Mr. Cargill is taking his forty winks ; so is 
‘ Jimmy/ poor dear. We will find my cousin and go down 
to Miss Brumage.” 

Fenton was discovered writing letters in the library, but 
these he willingly put aside when the ladies appeared, ac- 
companying them down to the school-house, where parents 
as well as pupils were assembled, and half an hour was 
spent in receiving congratulations and dispensing a huge 
basket of gifts which Miss Brumage had enjoyed selecting 
for the various families represented, while Miss Armitage 
beamed graciously on all, and again had to express her- 
self as delighted beyond measure with the highly-colored 
banner which the children had wrought for her accept- 
ance, and which, however, she made haste to say must 
thenceforth decorate the school-room. 

It was four o’clock, and with evident reluctance Miss 
Armitage went back to the house and Mr. Cargill, while 
Fenton promptly offered himself as escort to Constance for 
a walk into that part of the estate which she then knew 
least about, but which was destined later to become the 
scene of much solitary rambling, musing, and “ day- 
dreaming” for our heroine. 


188 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


CHAPTER XLVII. 
duty! 

Fenton’s mind was in that condition when to walk with 
a congenial companion, as he was beginning to find Con- 
stance Reade, in a place as tranquil, solemn and deeply- 
shaded as the beautiful glades of Fernhill, was the utmost 
solace. He had spent the morning in a half-hearted way 
of which he was ashamed, for the beautiful girl, who was 
so clearly anxious by her kindness, her generous hospital- 
ity and her indulgent humoring of his every fancy to atone 
for what she fancied he felt that she, in receiving all of her 
uncle’s fortune, defrauded him, should have had a fuller 
rendering of his homage — a more complete submission of 
his will and devotion — than he could bring himself to 
make; and he had not wished her to even guess at his 
private cares — his present cause for uneasiness in regard 
to Bertie Gibbons — although, as he walked slowly through 
the charming woodland at Constance’s side, he felt how 
complete would be the relief of mind could he frankly and 
fully and freely talk the matter over with her. The im- 
pulse to do so grew irresistible at last. Constance thought 
him singularly absent in manner; his face had lost all its 
brightness. She fancied that something had occurred be- 
tween his cousin and himself to cause the change; and 
while thus reflecting Fenton suddenly said, breaking off a 
spray of white blossoms: 

“ I am in a rebellious and destructive humor to-day, 
Miss Reade. Can you exorcise the demon ?’’ 

“Yes,” she answered, laughingly ; “but first tell me if 
you know its name.” 

Fenton turned, looked down at her, and said in a graver 
tone: 


DUTY. 


189 


“ Yes, it has many ; but one is luminous — Duty” 

“ You call that a demon needing exorcism ? ? ’ demanded 
Constance, smiling. “ Why, it is an angel with folded 
wings, waiting your bidding for flight.” 

“Ah, no ! I am afraid not ! Let us rest here,” he went 
on, brushing some leaves from a stretch of pine-strewn 
sward where the downward dip made a natural seat. 
“ There — that great tree-trunk gives you a rest, and — ” he 
smiled and looked at her — “it also affords a charming 
background for your very rural or pastoral costume — that 
green and white gown ; and your black hat with the wild 
roses is certainly picturesque. You look rather a good 
study for a Romney, if we had one among us. By the 
way,” he added, “ did you not think Helen looked re- 
markably well to-day ? There are times when I see possi- 
bilities of wonderful beauty in her.” 

“/ do, frequently/’ declared Constance, eager now to 
relieve her conscience, and if possible obtain the confidence 
which Miss Armitage evidently desired Fenton to bestow 
upon her. “ What do you think she will — she ought now 
to do? Her responsibilities appear enormous. And oh, 
Mr. Fenton — ” she looked at him eagerly — “ do you know 
I think yours are very great, for of all the crowd of people 
about her you seem to be the only one whose opinion 
really influences her. I think she is anxious to please 
every one — ” he smiled — “ but she really cares for what 
you think or say.” 

For a moment Fenton did not answer or gainsay the 
suggestion. His eyes, averted from the face of his com- 
panion, rested dreamily on the woodland vista ahead of 
them. There was no egotism in this silent acceptation of 
the opinion Constance had expressed, and he fancied he 
well enough understood the girl who had uttered it not to 
fear her misinterpreting his manner. 

“ In one sense you are right,” he at last said, leaning his 
elbqw on the pine-strewn ground, resting his head upon 


190 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


his hand, and gazing upward gravely. “ I believe — now, 
at least — Helen does value my opinion — does really care 
for the friendship which, quite apart from our natural re- 
lations, has always existed between us ; and, Miss Reade, 
sometimes I have thought — I have fancied — I would not 
be presumptuous in feeling I could dare to offer more — ” 
As he paused, the girl beside him said quickly, and in a 
low voice which betrayed nothing but earnest approval : 

“ Yes — that is what I meant !” 

“Ah !” Fenton’s brows drew together. He sprang to his 
feet and leaned against the broad trunk of the old tree, fold- 
ing his arms and looking at her intently. “ My life has 
been a curious one, Miss Reade — a queer mixture, in which 
impulse has warred with duty, pleasure with pain, until 
I have almost ceased to expect the fulfilment of any desire 
which is largely personal; and yet in my earnest, most pro- 
saic, most engrossed moments there leaps up that demon 
of unrest which tells me I should seek to grasp something 
of the diviner joys of life for myself while youth burns in 
my veins ! Yet where can I — how shall I, hampered as I 
am — dare to seek it?” 

“ Hampered f” Constance, eager not to let the topic drift 
away, spoke with quick, incredulous insistence; and Fen- 
ton, who had grown a trifle pale, smiled again and said, in 
his usual tone : 

“ Yes, indeed. You did not suppose me a man of any 
ties — any binding fetters ? Yet fate, circumstance, call it 
what you will — I have grown used to saying duty — has 
forged some I can never break, and which leave me power- 
less to rule my destiny. I am not free to choose.” 

Constance could say nothing. What was there, she won- 
dered, in his life of apparent ease, and to her mind lux- 
ury, which so bound his will and curbed his inclinations? 
His profession she knew to be that of a civil engineer, but 
his main work was with one special mining company for 
which he acted as Eastern agent and trustee. Apart from 


DUTY. 


191 


this he attended to many details of his cousin’s business. 
Where was the “ hindering n element in work which it was 
clearly evident he transacted with success? Not “ free to 
choose?” Then he had a choice ; her intuition was cor- 
rect. “ I have one tie,” he said presently, “ which was 
made by a solemn promise on the death-bed of the woman 
who gave me all the happiness my childhood ever knew. 
My step-mother, Miss Reade, was my ideal woman. Her 
son, her only child, was left to me, so to speak, boy-child 
that I was when I lost her. It was of him I intended 
speaking to-day. He has often been in trouble. Now he 
is not only in debt and without occupation but seriousty 
run down in health, and before coming here to-day I had 
to see to his removal to my house. For years he has been 
my constant care. I have dreaded anything — everything 
— from his easy, pleasure-loving, careless disposition and 
marvellous faculty for making friends. Now he has come 
East to escape the consequences of a foolish flirtation, and 
he is ill — there is no doubt of that — and it will take more 
than I ought to spare at once to pay his debts and start 
him anew.” 

Constance did not speak, but her eyes— the whole ex- 
pression of her face, as she listened — betrayed how deeply 
she was interested ; and Fenton, in the same voice, the tone 
one of half-melancholy, half-repressed feeling, went on : 

“ I have an inborn horror of injustice ; I wish to be fair 
on all sides — above all things, to do whatever is my duty 
by my step-brother. I dare not speak of this to Helen. 
It would look like — a suggestion of the pecuniary assist- 
ance she would be generous enough to offer, but it must 
be attended to at once. Now,” he smiled and looked at 
her more brightly, “ you see I have my Old Man of the Sea, 
and I have been selfishly trying to lessen his weight by 
telling you of him. It is not usual with me to be so com- 
municative.” 

“And I appreciate it,” said Constance quickly. “Mr. 


192 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


Fenton,’ ’ she went on, “ is it not strange how little one 
knows, by merely looking on, what is really governing the 
lives and actions of those dearest to us ? Even with you, 
I have thought — ” she broke off abruptly, her cheeks col- 
ored, she looked down, while Fenton, with his grave smile, 
said, gently : 

“ You have thought 1 even with me ’ — what , Miss Reade?” 

“That you were one of the favored few! One of the 
mortals exempt from the kind of annoyances which jar 
and irritate — I might say often distort — our best schemes 
in life.” 

Fenton reseated himself at her side, and looking with a 
puzzled incredulity into her young face said, slowly : 

“ You have really thought all this !” He turned away, 
looked across the woodland for an instant in silence, 
and then gave a short laugh. 4 4 Good heavens ! How dif- 
ferent!” he exclaimed. 

They were silent for a moment ; then Constance said, 
gently : 

“And — your brother? You say you have a horror of 
injustice ? May it not be, perhaps — is there a chance that 
he and this girl with whom you speak of his having had 
a flirtation may really care for each other? Then, even if 
her position is an humble one, has she not the right to love? 
It seems to me it confers an authority higher than the 
mere opinion of outsiders — indeed, of anyone else.” 

“I agree with you there,” said Fenton quickly, “and 
you must not misunderstand me. In this case, however, 
I am tolerably certain it is a mere matter of gain on the 
Elbrights’ part, and it is inevitable that Bertie would make 
her miserable. He would never actively abuse her — he is 
too fastidious for that ; but he would neglect her — could 
thoroughly ignore her very existence.” 

“Horrible! I can imagine forgiving anything more 
easily ! Fancy, with such a tie, being ignored /” 

“ Fancy anyone’s trying to ignore you , my child !” Fen- 


DUTY. 


193 


ton exclaimed. “ They might in the course of time, by 
dint of hard work, forget you ; but ignore you, never P' 

“Am I, then, so self-evident? And do you know, Mr. 
Fenton, I came to Fernhills determined to practice one of 
my dear Mrs. Ord’s favorite maxims. She used to say, 
‘ It is a wonderful thing to know how to efface yourself at 
times.* Was she not wise? To be present, and yet ab- 
sent. I’ve tried it lately.” 

. “ For instance ?” 

“ We were calling at the rectory. I sat on a stiff divan 
between the rector’s wife and Miss Armitage, and the 
conversation went on — all about things and people out of 
my sphere. You know I am not supposed to be quite — 
quite — ” She laughed, and her eyes sparkled with mis- 
chief as they sought his. He nodded his head and smiled 
back, while Constance, quite aware he understood her, 
went on : “ Well, I kept looking at a very imposing por- 
trait of some reverend gentleman on the wall ahead of me 
and trying to remember Mrs. Ord’s suggestion, and do you 
know I really made a tolerable success. After a time I 
ceased to be aware of more than the sound of their voices 
— for the life of me I could not have told a word that had 
been uttered.” 

“ I shall watch for indications of this in future,” said 
Fenton. u When I see your features gradually assuming 
an expression of trance-like rigidity I will come to the 
rescue. I foresee that you will need someone from time 
to time who can understand the depth and intricacy of 
your young mind, Miss Reade.” 

She laughed, but in the same moment remembered how 
little, at this rate, she could report of this conversation ; for 
although she had not the smallest intention of repeating 
one word which could, were he to know it, annoy Mr. 
Fenton, yet she felt sure Miss Armitage would expect to 
hear something of it; and in the same instant it rushed 
back to her mind what had been its leading topic — how 


194 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL. 


clear had he not made it that duty, and only duty, forbade 
his seeking his heart’s desire ! Constance’s heart beat 
with compassion! Why should he be debarred from a 
joy — if such the possession of Helen Armitage’s affection 
would be — which she believed firmly could be, might be, 
at any moment his ! 

“ Mr. Fenton ” — she, too, had risen now, and Fenton 
seemed ready for the homeward walk — “ do not make any 
mistake now in your own life. You say you have allowed 
yourself at times to look for something better, higher, or 
fuller than the ordinary conditions of life — ” 

“ Listen!” he interrupted, walking with folded arms. 
“ I said it. I mean it, and much more ! I have had such 
dreams; and, Miss Reade, my life — the struggles I have 
endured — instead of banishing have but fostered them. 
You spoke of me as free from the conditions which ham- 
per most of us ! I have known more even of 'privation 
than you can ever guess ! I have worked early and late — 
years ago ; toiled with as little rest as I have dared allow 
myself; lived where I seldom heard a human voice I cared 
for, saw a face I ever knew before or wished to remember; 
and grinding on, working on, have been always conscious 
of that inner self — that self some day to stand out and meet 
its complement , whether in work or appreciation or com- 
panionship — always aware that the hidden life, in the end, 
must mould and make and elevate the outer. The very 
sky has held images for me ; the air I have breathed has 
seemed to be filtered, so that all but its ozone of hope and 
voice of promise was refined away. All this I have gone 
through with in patience, believing in the law of compen- 
sation ; telling myself that the best — my best — my ideal — 
might one day be found; and now shall I meekly let 
mere worldly prosperity — the base * coin of the realm ’ — 
cheat me of my proudest fancies?” 

He smiled. Constance felt a singular physical tremu- 
lousness, as it were, in response to the deep intonation of 


DUTY , ; 


195 


his voice, and she forced herself to say, with the gentlest 
insistence : 

“No! You must not! It is because I fear you may 
not see what I see — I am sure I see — that I say to you, ‘ Go 
on ! take what the gods are holding out!’ Take their gift, 
Mr. Fenton, lest it be withdrawn if you seem reluctant!” 

Fenton’s excitement or enthusiasm seemed to have died 
away. He stood an instant looking at her, then suddenly 
the blood surged into his face. He understood her at 
last! And why — how — he asked himself as they slowly re- 
entered the garden, had he been fool enough not to see it 
all before ! But we cannot always voice our swiftest reve- 
lations. Fenton, allowing her to pass through the gate in 
the tall hedgerow of the blooming garden, said, w T ith a 
smile which belonged to the hours of drawing-room con- 
ventionalities : 

“You are, let us hope, as wise a Cassandra, Miss Reade, 
as you seem kind. When I have grasped all this fortune 
of Olympus I must not forget the oracle, even though it 
were only a slim wood-nymph in green muslin with a 
wreath of wild roses for her crown. Some day, when I 
have put on the armor of success, it may be I shall come 
and bid you look at me, and behold what you helped to 
accomplish !” 

Constance opened her lips to speak, but Fenton, with a 
quick movement, held back the garden gate, and the tete- 
a-tUe was at an end. At least, thought the girl as they 
re-entered the house, she had been shown plainly enough 
in what direction Fenton’s ambition as well as his fears 
had rested. But he would not — need not — remain long 
in uncertainty. Something decisive would result, if only 
from the annoying emergency which his brother’s illness 
had discovered. Was there anything, thought Constance, 
which she had left unsaid ? Anything, in other words, 
to account for the dissatisfaction of mind which made her 
feel even the soft radiance of the June air and the note of 


196 


A GIBUS ORDEAL . 


a goldfinch in the garden but negatively cheerful ? Fenton 
watched her linger in the main hall while he bent his own 
steps towards the library, and at the same moment the 
door opened and Helen Armitage appeared, looking un- 
usually grave, rather absent in air, flushing suddenly 
however as she observed Fenton and Constance, whose 
foot was already on the stairs. 

“Well?” Fenton held out his hand. “Are all the 
mighty problems settled? Do you realize at last that you 
are absolutely your ovm mistress of more than all you sur- 
vey ?” 

“ Are there no unconquered possessions, no undelivered 
keys?” She stood now leaning against the dark oak pan- 
elling of the hall, the fairness of her face, the charm of 
her slender, girlish figure challenging Fenton’s keen artis- 
tic sense, while the sweetness of her eyes — her half-timid, 
half-commanding glance — had in them something he 
could not but understand. 

“Once,” she went on rapidly — “do you remember? — 
here, in this very hall, Fen — you told me I was a silly, 
naughty child, who cried for the moon because I knew no 
better, and you said, 1 Helen, if you go on this way I shall 
be sorry enough when the day comes that you are mis- 
tress of Fernhills. It was when you refused to let me go 
to Gar very — to let me ride Turk. Are you sorry now?” 

He took the hand she had offered him and bent over it 
with the air of a courtier who had touched the hand of his 
sovereign. 

“ I am glad I saved you from Turk’s bad temper that 
day, and sorry that I ever even put such a thought as the 
other into words. Am I absolved? Do you accept my 
allegiance ?” 

The color flamed across her cheeks and she slowly drew 
her hand away, but not before she had shown the gratifica- 
tion his words had produced. 


“I AM SURE I CAN TRUST YOU ” 


197 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

“ 1 AM SURE I CAN TRUST YOU.” 

“ Miss Armitage says, if you please, Miss Reade, would 
you stop in her room a moment before dinner?” 

Constance had just finished her own toilette for the first 
festivity, if such the small dinner-party could be called, 
when Nora, who had been engaged below, came in with 
this message. The girl stood still a moment, looking with 
evident satisfaction upon the first approach to an evening 
toilette Miss Reade had attempted at Fernhills. The dress 
was a simple but very charming one — a brown crepe over 
dead-gold silk, the gauzy sleeves showing the whiteness 
of her prettily-rounded arms ; the corsage, really high, re- 
vealing the exquisite fairness and rounded curve of her 
throat; while on one side and in the waves of her hair 
Constance wore some fresh violets, with their deep-green 
leaves, which she found on her dressing-table upon her 
return — no doubt the result of Miss Armitage’s kind 
thought. 

“ I am sure, Miss, you do look nice,” said Nora. Then 
she added, with the evident desire of clinching her appro- 
val : “ Real ladylike I call that dress, now ! And those vio- 
lets — Mr. Fenton he didn’t know, of course, what you 
would wear, but he couldn’t have chosen better!” 

“ He was very kind,” murmured Constance, bending 
down lest Nora would see the color fly into her cheeks. 
She gave one more hurried glance into her mirror and 
then made haste to join Miss Armitage, who perhaps would 
be too much engrossed by the thought of her own affairs 
to observe any details not bearing directly upon them. 

The young lady of the house was in her own sanctum 


198 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


when Constance knocked at the door, and raised her eyes 
from a large case of white velvet on which reposed a spark- 
ling riviere of amethysts and pearls, necklace, earrings, 
and sprays for the corsage and hair. 

“ They were a special gift to me, these,” she said, “ from 
Fenton’s father — the only present of any importance I ever 
received from him. What had Fenton to say while you 
were out? Mr. Cargill kept me an unconscionable time.’ , 
She paused — not, it was evident, thinking of any answer 
Constance might have made — evidently engrossed by some 
thought of her own. Celerine was in the adjoining room 
and they were quite alone; and suddenly lifting her eyes 
and fixing them upon Constance’s face the heiress said, in 
a low, very earnest tone : 

“ I shall be giving you a great confidence if I tell you 
something, Miss Reade, but I am sure you will understand 
it. I am sure I can trust you — ” She hesitated, and then 
went on — “ Mr. Cargill has made very clear what he thinks 
ought to come to pass between Fen and myself ; in fact he 
says that he is sure only the thought of my fortune hin- 
ders Jack from speaking to me at once. But it is as he 
says — just as, I suppose, people in royal circles have to 
feel — there are occasions when we cannot allow an over- 
strained delicacy to interfere with what is clearly our duty. 
It is, he says, the most fitting kind of a marriage either 
Fen or I could ever make; but I must encourage him a 
little. Naturally, he hesitates, I suppose; but he need not ! 
As if my money could ever have the least influence upon 
my feelings where he is concerned ! No ! He will find out 
how generous I can be. Only, is it not hard? I presume 
Mr. Cargill will say something — I hope it will all be set- 
tled ver}' soon, as I shall feel rather uncomfortable myself, 
now that I know just how the land lies; and, as Mr. Car- 
gill says, too, I need some one to look after everything for 
me. And Fen — no one could ever seem the same.” 

“I can but hope you will be happy,” said Constance. 


“I AM SURE I CAN TRUST YOUN 


199 


“ It is a tremendous undertaking, look at it how we may. 
Strange that he cannot get away from this need of a dual 
life, so to speak — ” 

She broke off, and Miss Armitage, after watching her for 
an instant, said, with a smile : 

“ Come, my dear, let us go down at once. Oh, he sure 
and observe everything, and tell me what you think.” 

They left the room together and reached the drawing- 
room, opened for this occasion, just as the sound of 
wheels on the gravel announced the arrival of the first 
guests ; and a few moments later “ Mrs. and Miss Bailey ” 
were announced, followed by the rectory party — Mrs. 
Fenwick presenting to Con’s mind the same suggestion of 
absolute propriety and faultless precision in her dinner- 
gown of rich bronze silk, with a towering headgear of lace 
and flowers, that she had made before, while the blonde 
Miss Penwick, in white mull with satin ribbons and corn- 
flowers, was equally irreproachable. The Baile} r s— father, 
mother and daughter — were all animation — a flutter of 
ribbons, laces, and black and white silks on the ladies’ 
part, and of immaculate linen and broadcloth upon that 
of the large, round-faced, blonde gentleman, who, as head 
of the family, looked as though he was on the most jovial 
terms with the whole universe, and regarded everything 
more or less from a humorous point of view. As on the 
street in Gelston, they appeared of one mind — to bear 
down, as though blown by a friendly gale, upon Miss Ar- 
mitage; and in the confusion of their unanimous utter- 
ances Constance found herself sought by Fenton, who 
leisurely crossed the room to where she was standing, in 
spite of Mrs. Penwick’s evident displeasure at his passing 
her daughter by. 

“Well?” He smiled in the pleasant fashion he had with 
her, as though there was some bond between them un- 
known at present to the world at large. “ So we have be- 
gun our social duties in earnest! You look quite natural 


200 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


and to the manner born. I wanted to see you in this 
room.” 

“ Yes ?” She smiled back at him, and then said, quiz- 
zically, “ You know you are to help me — to keep my 
place. Have you forgotten ? I must on this first occa- 
sion learn just where it is. I — I think even Miss Armi- 
tage longed to give me a little hint ! Please don’t seem at- 
tentive. I know you mean it kindly ; but don’t compan- 
ions, as a rule, just hover about, so to speak, on the edge 
of the charmed circle ?” 

“ I don’t know, I’ve had so few. Those I have had were 
generally horribly promiscuous. I learned my faculty 
for concentration from trying to forget they were there, so 
to speak — that is, out West.” 

“What ground that covers! You men need only go 
out West for a while to have a whole ton of reminis- 
cences and a place always to refer your idlest experiences 
or habits to.” 

“ A general background of the lurid and eventful and 
stimulating? Unfortunately mg Western life was deadly 
matter-of-fact.” 

“ You don’t, somehow, suggest hardships or a vagabond 
past.” 

“ I don’t, eh ? Well, that is the result of inborn cos- 
mopolitanism, or possibly powers of repulsion. I don’t as- 
similate easily — more’s the pity.” 

“ Rejoice in it, then. I do assimilate outwardty, and I 
pay the penalty by feeling above my actions or surround- 
ings just at the wrong time. Oh !” her face lighted, and 
she said, touching the flowers on her breast, “thank you 
so much. Nora told me you sent them ; they are lovely.” 

“ They assimilate with their surroundings,” he said, 
lightly. “ It is too modest a flower, however, for a bold 
young thing like yourself; but it may help by being sug- 
gestive — ” 

“When your hints fail? I see! You were doubly 


MSS. PENWICK IS ALARMED. 


201 


thoughtful in the selection. What it must be to have 
such a subtle mind !” 

“ When I see hypocrisy, you understand, so rampant in 
any one, I like to help the joke along. Violets,” he added, 
“ and Miss Reade ! The inappropriateness is very hu- 
morous, you know.” 

“Very — now. Oh, do you see Miss Armitage almost 
beckoning you ?” 

He did, and presently crossed the room leisurely, to 
find the hostess not too well pleased by his devoting so 
much time to a member of the party in Constance Reade’s 
position. But it was easy to make his peace. lie in- 
sisted that if, as was certainly what “ the book ” proved 
suggestive as fitting, the rector was to take Helen in to 
dinner, he should be placed near enough to her to talk to 
her from time to time. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

MRS. PENWICK IS ALARMED. 

At dinner Constance found herself placed directly be- 
tween “ Jimmy,” who was nearly engulfed in her gown of 
black grenadine and jet, and Mr. Bailey — an arrange- 
ment which, if it relieved her from all need of making 
conversation, since she had only to listen to and laugh 
at Mr. Bailey’s jokes, and see that “Jimmy’s” wants 
were attended to, was rather unsatisfactory so far as her 
personal enjoyment was concerned. However, as she felt 
she could later assure Mr. Fenton, she was buoyed up 
by a sense of usefulness; and it was evident that Fenton, 
who had been “told off” as escort to Miss Fenwick, was 
enjoying himself very well, while the placid girl herself 
seemed to be quite roused by his attentions. Something 


202 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


having been said about the proposed additions to the 
Town Hall, Mr. Bailey, in his “mild roar” as his jovial 
voice had been called, leaned forward to say : 

“ Now, Miss Armitage, there's a chance for you. Put up 
that wing for the new public library — eh, Cargill ? The 
young lady of Fernhills ought to inaugurate her coming 
of age by something for future generations to behold.” 

“ It’s out of my hands,” declared Mr. Cargill, in much 
the same tone that he would have spoken of some calam- 
ity having been averted ; while Mr. Pen wick, to whom 
everything Mr. Bailey said seemed more or less irreverent — 
at least verging on the dangerous— turned to Fenton to 
inquire whether he knew if the final arrangements for the 
Flower Show had been made. His answer being given 
while conversation was general and Helen Armitage quite 
seriously discussing the idea of the addition to the Gel- 
ston Library, Mrs. Penwick took occasion to inquire also 
whether he thought Miss Armitage intended every one to 
regard “that Miss Reade as — as — a — ” Fenton curbed 
his temper and looked at the lady very calmly, deter- 
mined she should find her definitions for herself, and 
Mrs. Penwick made haste to say : “ I mean — now, you 
know, that the fetes are coming on ? Dear Helen is, we 
know, very impulsive — are we all to receive Miss Reade as 
her friend — her guest ?” 

“ Precisely ” said Fenton, as though he could bite the 
word, yet preserving the most complete air of indifference. 
It would not do to let this silly, cold-blooded woman 
think it a matter"" of any interest to himself. “Miss 
Reade’s position,” he went on, “ should not be in any de- 
gree anomalous, Mrs. Penwick. She is here as much in 
the position of a guest as we are, although with this dif- 
ference — it is her home.” 

Curb his tone of voice though he might, Fenton had 
betrayed more feeling than he intended, and Mrs. Pen- 
wick’s smile was not merely one of acquiescence. Foolish 


MRS. PENWICK IS ALARMED . 


203 


Helen ! — but was it not her part, as a friend, to make some 
suggestion f — give her a faint hint ? Or perhaps it would he 
as well to “ tackle ” the girl herself. It was all on dear 
Helen’s account, of course. There was not any idea, Mrs. 
Pen wick felt sure, of Miss Reade’s crossing their path ; and 
yet, following the involuntary direction of Fenton’s eyes, 
she could not but reflect that Constance, as she looked at 
that moment, smiling over some of Mr. Bailey’s fun, her 
face so innocently fair and winsome, her head uplifted 
with its peculiar grace of bearing, her dress so complete 
in its elegant simplicity and distinction, was a rival to be 
feared, in spite of her “ lowly estate.” 

. “ She looks dangerous ,” was Mrs. Penwick’s charitable 
conclusion. u She is actually smiling at Mr. Bailey ! In 
her position ! It is easily seen that Helen has pushed her 
forward beyond her place !” 

Constance could not but feel relieved when the signal 
came for the ladies to rise, it being one of Miss Armitage’s 
inflexible rules for them to leave the table first on any for- 
mal occasion. Mrs. Pen wick arose with something almost 
of a jump, so anxious was she to talk to dear Plelen and 
give her some frvndly counsel — an amiable resolve, 
strengthened when she observed that as they passed out 
Fenton, who had risen to open the door, smiled in that 
easy way of his upon the “ companion,” and actually said 
something to her in a half-whisper! Fenton! of all men 
on earth to so forget himself! 

u I shall do a mother’s part by poor, dear Helen,” was 
Mrs. Penwick’s reflection as she sailed majestically along, 
the lawn their destination. It was still daylight, and 
tea and coffee would be served the ladies there. 

Constance, glancing about, desirous to make herself use- 
ful in some fashion, observed that Nelly Penwick seemed 
rather undecided what to do, and accordingly she joined 
her, and, in spite of a somewhat chilly reception, “ making ” 
conversation bravely. 


204 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ I suppose henceforward we will be chiefly busy with 
the Flower Show and the fete” she said, pleasantly. “It 
is all new to me, and I shall be greatly interested.” 

Miss Penwick stared for a moment, uncertain how to 
answer a remark which, as she told her mother later, 
Miss Reade made as “ coolly ” as if she were one of them- 
selves; and Constance, whose intuitions had of late been 
growing painfully keen, quite understood it. She hesi- 
tated for a moment, her natural impulse being to walk 
away — to go on, perhaps into the woodland — anywhere 
away from her present surroundings ; the color burned in 
her cheeks; and then, simply as the feeling had arisen, 
came another — the remembrance of a task she had set 
herself only the night before! She knew well her “ pre- 
dominant passion ” — knew that pride, impatience, were 
her failings, and that, it had occurred to her, a means of 
their cure now lay at hand. The resolve had been 
strengthened by the chapter she had read before retiring. 
The reading to the servants had become intermittent; but 
a spasm of system had sent Miss Armitage to her duty, 
and Constance had read for her: 

“ Where is thy fear , thy fortitude , thy 'patience , and the per- 
fection of thy ways f” 

“ Do I not need an Eliphaz the Temanite myself ?” 
thought Constance, with a smile. Aloud she said, in a 
pleasant voice : 

“ I intend to be as useful as I can at the fetes , but also to 
enjoy myself. Flowers are my delight. Do tell me some- 
thing about the Show, Miss Penwick. I am sure you 
know all about it — and gardening was — once — a hobby 
with me.” 

u Oh, — ” Miss Penwick hardly knew quite what to say, 
but she always liked to be instructive. “ The principal ob- 
ject is the display of new plants and flowers. This year 
we are making fuchsias a specialty. Last year it was all 
roses, and several complained of that. It is not every one 


MRS. FENWICK IS ALARMED. 


205 


who has roses worth exhibiting. The gardeners have a 
special prize. The fete is very nice. We are so particular 
about the tickets ! But one has to be where tickets are 
sold. Do you dance ?” she added, immediately regretting 
such a question ; and as Constance turned to answer in the 
affirmative her eyes fell upon a group not far away — Miss 
Armitage in deep discussion with Mrs. Bailey and Mrs. 
Penwick. The latter presently detached herself from the 
side of her hostess and crossed the lawn to where her 
daughter and Constance were standing. 

“ Nelly,” she said, in a very severe tone, “ Mr. Fenton 
asked at dinner if you had brought your music. Did 
you ?” Miss Penwick answering that she had, the rector’s 
wife continued, “ Miss Reade, will you show me where it 
is ? Helen — Miss Armitage — talks of having the aviary — ” 
A glance at her daughter being clearly understood by that 
sleek- haired and self-possessed young lady, Mrs. Penwick 
moved forward as Constance turned to lead the way to- 
wards the conservatory — something telling her this was 
merely a ruse on the lady’s part to obtain a tete-a-tete. 

Constance, later, tried to recall the details of that con- 
versation, when the examination of the space for the in- 
tended aviary was of course soon forgotten; but although 
thankful that she “had held her own ” bravely, and com- 
pelled the offensive woman at her side to be silent, she 
could only remember detached sentences in the midst of 
suggestions which made her face flame for an instant — 
her pulses to beat with sharp rapidity. But the effect was 
very clear. Certainly, Mrs. Penwick did not say it openly 
in words, but she gave her to understand that “ they ” 
feared Mr. Fenton’s kindness might be mistaken, and — oh ! 
what an unfortunate thing! — it would be all around if 
Miss Armitage’s evident “ fancy ” for her should result in 
anything at all destructive to her peace of mind ! A new 
face — a little novelty — especially with a girl in her — ahem ! 
— unprotected position; all men were taken by it; and 


206 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


dear Helen was so generous, so unsuspicious! Miss 
Reade would excuse her saying all this, she was sure , as it 
was for the happiness of them all. 

And then Constance, who, while her heart was beating 
painfully with strokes she seemed to hear , had been lis- 
tening with a silence the rector’s wife had accepted as 
complete submission to her views, did speak, looking 
levelly into the lady’s round, unwrinkled face, with her 
eyes ominously brilliant. 

“ No, Mrs. Penwick,’’ she said, in a calm, perfectly self- 
contained voice, determined not to let her antagonist sus- 
pect she had even hurt the pride of her heart, her self-es- 
teem, to say nothing of deeper feelings, “ I do not excuse 
you ! I have no doubt your intentions are good, so far 
as your judgment, which seems warped, will allow them 
to be; but just because I am in that lonely and unpro- 
tected position you speak of I am the more determined to 
say what I mean and feel. You speak of having Miss 
Aimitage’s good at heart. Is it furthering that, do you 
think, to try and create a coolness — a breach — between 
us? People who are so anxious for the welfare of others 
should inquire into their own motives a little more closely 
before they offer suggestions on subjects which — pardon 
me — are not in any way their affair — should not be even 
mentioned by them ! There is nothing in your position 
or in mine to have warranted this interference on your part, 
and I can only trust it will never be repeated. If Miss 
Armitage is unsuspicious, as you say, let me assure you it 
is because she has no reason to be otherwise. And another 
thing: only the fact that you have brought Mr. Fenton’s 
name into this with mine so unpleasantly hinders me 
from doing what I think she would wish done — telling 
her of every word of this conversation.” 

Constance turned and held the door open for Mrs. Pen- 
wick to pass out, following the lady, who was, if silenced 
and forced to admit thoroughly “answered,” inwardly 


MISS BRUMAGE TELLS HER STORY. 


207 


raging. At that moment I am afraid the rector’s wife 
even forgot her philanthropy, her generous desire to do 
“ dear Helen ” a service, so completely had the turning of 
the tables roused her ire against the girl she had meant to, 
for once, “ put in her place !” But she would not forget it ! 


CHAPTER L. 

MISS BRUMAGE TELLS HER STORY. 

I am afraid that the rest of the evening did not bear 
out as thoroughly as it might Constance’s high-minded 
resolve to do her duty in the position and occupation 
chosen by her, since any one less u companionable ” 
than our heroine would have been difficult to find; 
but her avoidance of Fenton was almost involuntary. 
Scorn Mrs. Fenwick’s interference though she might, 
it was not possible to be unconscious of the sugges- 
tions that enterprising lady had made, coupled with 
what had come to her knowledge of Helen’s own feelings, 
and she had never been more thankful for the “ instru- 
ment,” as Mrs. James called the piano, since under cover 
of the sweet sounds she evoked therefrom the agitation of 
, her own mind was best concealed ; but once or twice, as 
she glanced around the company, she was nettled to ob- 
serve that however indifferent the rector’s wife might 
have been, she evidently regarded Constance’s devotion to 
the piano as a tribute to her wisdom and “ friendly ” 
plain-speaking. An occasional glance from Miss Armi- 
tage puzzled her. That young lady was entirely unaccus- 
tomed to concealing her feelings, and Constance could not 
hut regret having to fear the same kind “ friend ” had 
been counselling her. 

They were alone at last. All but the house-party had 


208 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


left, and Mr. Cargill was, so to speak, relieving his mind 
of the last echoes of conversation with Fenton, who, always 
on his guard, answered in a direct, comprehensive fash- 
ion, which entirely veiled what was really passing through 
his mind. It is impossible for any one to persistently 
avoid us without our being conscious of it, no matter of 
how slight a consequence such a one may be; and Fenton, 
who was annoyed with himself for any increase of an in- 
terest he did not like to encourage, was too keenly sensi- 
tive not to feel Constance’s tacit withdrawal from anything 
like attention on his part. Helen Armitage was in a deep 
chair at a distance, evidently lost in thought, and more or 
less tired after the day and evening. The very adulation 
of her friends had been a certain strain. For once she 
was really unobservant of Fenton and not even thinking 
of him, but absorbed with plans for the Flower Show and 
the fete, which would, she had been assured by Mrs. 
Bailey, give the “crowning touch” to her sovereignty in 
Gelston and Garth County. Later on she intended to do 
something socially very splendid on her own account. 
The fumes of success seemed even now to be mounting to 
her brain, and she saw herself on a vantage ground where 
assuredly Fenton must stand with her, unless he be con- 
tent to have her look down ! At last Mr. Cargill’s indolent 
tones and incisive words died away. Fenton deliberately 
crossed the room to where Constance stood by the piano, 
rearranging the scattered music, and said, quietly : 

“ You play wonderfully well, even when you are mak- 
ing the music merely a vehicle of silence.” 

Constance did not lift her eyes for a moment nor dis- 
continue her occupation, and Fenton continued : 

“ Of course you understand me. That is one comfort in 
our rather spasmodic association — I suppose you would 
not allow me to say friendship. I always count on be- 
ing understood.” 

The dimple which gave the girl’s face piquancy ap- 


MISS B BUM AGE TELLS HER STORY. 


209 


peared now in the cheek nearest Fenton, and she half- 
raised her eyes to say, demurely : 

“ That is surely a privilege I can be allowed ! When I 
play to promote conversation I can at least enjoy the privi- 
lege of silence.” 

“ You are a very intangible person altogether 1 Impos- 
sible to know where one’s hold is secure ! Are there any 
points of actual contact ?” 

“ With the world in general? So many that I ought to 
have no angles — so few, however, that I can slide in and 
out of any groove, let us hope, without friction.” 

She laid the last sheet of music on the shelf of the 
stand near by, gave him a little friendly nod, which effec- 
tively ended the tete-a-tete , and Fenton once more asked 
himself if he intended to forget his line in life — the part 
so clearly assigned him by a fate all smiling, all propi- 
tious, all alluring, and which at that very moment was 
coming towards him in the person of his uncle’s heiress. 
Miss Armitage’s reverie had been suddenly dispelled by 
the sight of Fenton’s seeking Constance Reade in this un- 
necessary manner, but she had observed with pleasure 
that her “ companion” had of her own accord ended their 
brief conversation, and accordingly she approached him 
with unwonted serenity. Fenton, whose pride was more 
or less touched by the apparent indifference of that young 
girl, now talking very brightly to Mrs. James and Mr. 
Cargill, was the readier to be pleased by his cousin’s gra- 
ciousness of manner. 

“ Allow me to congratulate you again, my dear Helen,” 
he said earnestly, and looking at her with that admiration 
for physical beauty which he was always keen to feel, and 
which this brilliantly-fair girl, in her rich dress, jewels and 
gloves, could not but rouse. “ Your foot is on the very 
step of your throne. I foresee just the sort of unlimited 
triumph in Garth you can best enjoy. Go on, and make 
us all your slaves.” 


14 


210 


a gibus ordeal. 


And Constance, who was waiting for an answer to some 
question she had put Mr. Cargill, listened with a sudden 
contraction of her heart. How wise, after all, she had 
been ! However officious and out of place they might he 
Mrs. Penrick’s suggestions should not henceforward be for- 
gotten. No trouble need there be for any one to caution 
her again. 

Sunday at Fernhills was a day most conventionally 
observed, and directly after breakfast Constance, who had 
discovered, through Miss Brumage, the existence of a small 
church about one mile west of Miss Armitage’s abode, 
made haste to avail herself of the greater freedom she had 
stipulated for on that day, and dressing very simply started 
down to Mrs. Cooley’s cottage, where the little school-mis- 
tress made her temporary home. 

“Oh, how kind of you to come! ’ Milly Brumage ex- 
claimed, fervently. “ I was so afraid, with all the grand 
doings, you might forget.” 

“ No danger,” laughed Constance ; and she added, good- 
humoredly, “ my services are not needed, particularly, to- 
day.” 

The girls then walked along a pathway peaceful with a 
sense of Sabbath stillness and serenity, the sky exquisitely 
fair over head, the woodlands skirting the road offering 
endless suggestions of cool green glades and tC spicy dells.” 
Constance could not but sigh and wish for Clare, or even 
Larry, to enjoy this brilliancy and verdant loveliness with 
her, and wonder, while little Miss Brumage was telling her 
how very interesting she considered botany, when any of 
the Amblesworth party might journey so far Westward as 
the State of New York. 

The service in the little church was infinitely soothing — 
refreshing to heart and soul and mind as well. Constance 
felt that she needed more and more, in the life she was 
leading at Fernhills, a deep religious stimulus which mere 
conventional forms, such as seemed to be the only outward 


\ 


MISS BRUM AGE TELLS HER STORY. 


211 


expression of inward grace among the members of Miss 
Armitage’s household, never offered— rather made to seem 
unusual and unnecessary. She dreaded settling down into 
a like frame of mind. As she had told Mr. Fenton, there 
was in her character, in spite of the eagerness of soul, which 
was a marked trait, a power of assimilation which could 
prove a danger. Unless something occurred to jar her sen- 
sibilities, to hinder the upward flight of her fancy, and 
make of every-day enjoyments something too merely hu- 
man, Constance knew herself to be in danger of drifting 
with a tide where all burdens were made easy, all fastidi- 
ousness satisfied, the currents all pleasurable and tending 
to some direct point of attraction. As they walked home- 
ward she roused herself to listen to little Miss Brumage, 
who, in that peculiarly timid way she had of addressing 
any one so “ near the throne ” as she concluded Constance 
must be, was saying she “ dreaded mentioning her holidays 
to Miss Armitage.” Constance fancied there was a hint of 
a petition from herself in the way the young girl spoke, 
and smiled good-humoredly. 

“ But why, Miss Brumage?” she asked gently. “ I, of 
course, will not think of such a privilege this year, having 
just come; but if I remain until next summer I will 
surely ask for what any clerk can expect. Do you go 
home?” she added. 

Miss Brumage looked up with a brightening of her pretty, 
soft, dark eyes, and said, eagerly : 

“ That is it ! I am so anxious to go home this summer of 
all others, Miss Armitage!” 

She sighed deeply and walked on a moment without 
speaking, while Constance, ever quick to be sympathetic, 
showed her interest by an attentive manner even though 
silent, and the girl presently continued : 

“ You see, we’ve a large family, and — and — ” she made 
the admission almost as though it deserved apology — 
“ very much united — that is, very fond of each other; and 


212 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


although we’ve had — most of us — to earn our own living, 
we’ve been just the same when we’re together — the boys 
have helped us all they could. Oh, Miss Reade, I don’t 
think any girls ever had such brothers ! Often I see young 
men that maybe are handsomer and have more style, don’t 
you know, and can sport around and be in the fashion, 
and I just think of our Dave and Tony, working so hard 
and doing so much for all of us !” Her eyes half -filled with 
tears, but she hurried on : “ And now, you see, Dave’s got 
a chance to go to Wisconsin for a firm he’s working for. 
He’s only a gas-fitter, and maybe you’d think worse of 
him, Miss Reade, for that, but I can tell you he’s working 
his way straight up — there wasn’t a chance , after father 
died, to think of professions ! I guess not — those boys 
just took hold of anything ; and mother has a right to be 
proud of them ; and — my — ” she hesitated and blushed 
again, but evidently was determined to have it out. “ You 
see, Miss Reade, the worst of it is, I’m — well, I’m as good 
as engaged. I didn’t dare tell Miss Armitage, for I heard it 
said she wouldn’t employ an engaged girl, and I’m sure it’s 
never kept me back in work. And Neal — his name, Miss 
Reade, is Neal Ferguson — his father was half-Scotch — is 
going away, too, very soon. He’s a machinist and very 
clever; but you see v like us, in a way, he has his mother 
and an invalid sister to look out for; that’s why I 
wouldn’t let him call it an engagement. His sister took 
spasms when she heard of it, and Neal was most crazy. 
She just went into one fit after another, and she said she 
and Neal wouldn’t think of marrying, she hoped, while 
their mother lived ; and you know, Miss Reade, it’s a ter- 
rible thing for a girl to destroy the peace of any family. 
Neal came around to our house, and first of all he said he 
wasn’t going to be hindered one little bit; he could take 
care of Eliza and me too. But, Miss Reade, I couldn’t 
feel I ought to go in as a disturber ; still, we leave it just 
like that — if the time ever does come, and we can see cur 


MISS BRUM AGE TELLS IIER STORY. 


213 


way, why we will be married ; any way, I won’t think of 
any one else. He knows that ; but there isn’t much hope ; 
every cent he’s saved has gone to doctoring and trying to 
keep the roof over their heads. Sometimes he gets real 
savage over it. But there ! Maybe this new scheme will 
come to something. I’d like to see him to say good-bye. 
It’s four years and a half now, since we first kept com- 
pany. Will you come in? If you don’t mind, Miss 
Reade,” she added, with a radiant smile, having reached 
Mrs. Cooley’s dwelling, “ I’ll show you his picture.” 

Constance readily accompanied the little school-teacher 
upstairs and into a good-sized and exquisitely clean room, 
where, turning over the leaves of a large, brilliantly bound 
photograph album with quick, nervous fingers, Miss 
Brumage held it open at last on the important page, say- 
ing in a tone of mixed triumph and sorrow : 

“ There, Miss Reade, that’s him — Neal Ferguson. He 
had it taken about two months ago.” 

It was only a ferrotype, but it was large enough to in- 
clude a great deal of scenery and rustic work as a back- 
ground for a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with a 
face Constance thought hopelessly plain until she found 
the charm of the very frank, bright eyes and honest, well- 
curved mouth and chin. There was no mistaking that 
stalwart figure and determined face for anything but a 
workingman’s, but one of whom the mother and sister — 
and the anxious little girl awaiting Con’s verdict — might 
well be proud ; and Miss Brumage was delighted when 
Constance looked around to say, very earnestly : 

“Indeed, my dear, he looks all you say; and more; 
but, isn’t his sister rather selfish ?” 

Miss Brumage looked startled, if not actually horrified. 

“ Oh ! Miss Reade,” she exclaimed, “ Tm the selfish one ! 
Oh ! Eliza’s a real sufferer — at times.” 

“ That may be, but she needn’t spoil three lives. Well, 
Miss Brumage, I can only wish you the best of luck, and 


214 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


I will see if I can suggest your holiday ; but don’t you 
think it better to speak frankly yourself? Would not 
Miss Armitage like that best?” 

“ Oh, possibly ; but if you would only give a hint /” 

Constance laughed. 

“ I couldn’t !” she exclaimed. “ I can openly suggest, 
but I never hint ! However, I’ll see, if a chance occurs, 
what I can do.” And with a pleasant good-bye, and say- 
ing she hoped all would go well, Constance left her little 
friend and co-worker, retracing her steps by the river 
path, soon lost in thought — a reverie roused as much by 
what the young school-mistress had been telling her as by 
her own deeper, more perplexing thoughts. Once again 
the feeling that Miss Armitage was losing much of what 
would in her case have constituted one of the greatest 
charms in having wealth at her command by not coming 
into gentler and more useful contact with her dependents, 
and helping their lives, came back, with a resolve to see 
if she could not by influence, and even suggestion, widen 
the horizon — the scope of her fair employer’s life and men- 
tal vision. 

Constance’s philanthropic and semi-philosophical reverie 
came to a sudden standstill. Out from the bushes rushed 
a dog — a yellowish-brown collie — who sprang at her, 
leaping joyfully about, licking her hand, and trying to 
reach her very shoulders with his paws, while Constance, 
bewildered but too delighted to speak for an instant, at 
last exclaimed : 

“Oh, Keon! Keon ! You darling old fellow! Where 
did you come from ?” And in another instant the bushes 
crackled again and Larry Coleman, flushed and delighted, 
stood before her. 



“ Out from the bushes rushed a dog.” 
























































































































































LARRY SUCCUMBS . 


215 


CHAPTER LI. 

LARRY SUCCUMBS. 

“ Larry ! Oh ! Where — when did you come ! Oh ! 
I am so glad !” 

Con’s radiant face and broken sentences were all the 
welcome the tall young fellow needed as he shook both 
her hands, nearly crushing them in his own, before he 
explained his presence. 

‘‘Why you see, my dear,” he said, as they walked on 
towards Fernhills, “ I had to come to New York on busi- 
ness ; in fact, Con, I’m going out West next month. I’ve 
an offer from Bradley’s firm, and I mean to take it. Your 
friend Droy knows him, and wrote me he was Al. Well, 
anyhow, I’m starting next month. I have to see a few 
people in town, and of course I wouldn’t go back without 
seeing you.” 

I “ I should think not ! I would never have forgiven 
you ! Oh, Larry ! how are they all ? Do tell me every- 
thing.” 

He gave the “ home budget,” which was not so cheer- 
ing as Constance would have wished, since he spoke of his 
father as decidedly “ breaking ” in health yet refusing to 
give in. “And, Constance,” the lad said, gravely, “his 
business losses have done it, I feel sure. You know how 
unlimited his faith is in everybody and everything. He’s 
signed his name for more than one party, to my knowl- 
edge, where he has had to meet the amount all by himself, 
and his o wn investments have been doing badly. Clare, 
v ou know, always takes things quietly, but even she sees 
mat the worst may not be far off. He has had — the 
Pater, I mean, dear old boy — bad turns of that vertigo, 
lately, and we forced him to consult Dr. Jamieson. I 


216 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


don’t think Jamieson liked how he found him at all. Still, 
of course, rest — and he is resting more or less, now — may 
pull him through.” 

Constance listened with a swelling heart. Oh ! what 
would she not have given for a little share of the wealth 
her step-mother and sister were doubtless flinging away 
on their new home — their insatiable effort to enter “ soci- 
ety !” But it was idle to even think of them. She turned 
to ask Larry if he would have to be gone from home in- 
definitely. 

“ Hard to tell,” said Larry. “ You see, I don’t know 
what they’ll put me to. If I get a chance to travel I’ll 
maybe spin along East again ; but, anyway, I mean 
work! Hello! This is a fine place, Con !” He stopped 
as they were about entering the gate below the lawn, ob- 
serving the fair proportions of Miss Armitage’s home with 
surprse and admiration. “ It looks fit for a princess,” he 
said, finally. “ By the way — how do you and she hit it 
off?” 

“ Miss Armitage is a lovely girl, as you will soon see for 
yourself,” she replied, “ and the most wonderful kind of a 
person, Larry ! Don’t be dazzled by her beaux yeux. She 
is a great heiress, and will probably make some marriage 
which will take her far away out of my sphere, so far as 
present indications go; and — oh, yes! — she is very kind, 
and we get on admirably,” answering his question. “ You 
know I am not a particularly combative person; still, I 
don't think I belong to the ‘Tame Cat’ order, quite. But 
Miss Armitage finds me useful, I presume, and I preserve 
my own independence sufficiently to lead a life of my 
own, at times, even in the midst of the very grand sort 
of existence the others are enjoying.” 

“ Or enduring?” smiled Larry; and Constance, remem- 
bering what would be likely to prove a decided bond of 
attraction between Helen Armitage and the Doctor’s son, 
said, quietly : 


LARRY SUCCUMBS. 


217 


“Oh, Larry, there is one thing! We are all just now 
supposed to be flower-mad ” — she told him of the ap- 
proaching/^, etc., etc. — “and you will walk directly into 
Miss Armitage’s good graces if you admire her fuchsias, 
which you honestly can, and tell her something of the 
Amblesworth garden.” 

“ I see. Those seem to be fine greenhouses.” 

“ Yes, everything is fine — superfine — ” said Constance, 
as they went up the steps of the house. “Nothing need 
be otherwise.” 

Larry was quite willing to believe this from the moment 
they entered the main hallway, where Constance paused 
to explain Mr. Coleman’s appearance to the very polite 
Mr. Blake. 

“ Blake,” she added, “ will you let Miss Armitage know, 
directly she comes back, that Mr. Coleman is in my sitting- 
room ?” 

And Blake must have been prompt in doing so, for the 
sounds of the returning brougham half an hour later 
seemed hardly to have died away when the rustle of 
Helen Armitage’s drapery was heard in the short corri- 
dor leading to Con’s room and her light quick tap on the 
door sounded. 

Larry was standing by the mantel absorbed in thought, 
having just laid before his old “ comrade ” details of the 
Western trip as he proposed to make it, and from which 
he hoped so much, and Constance, her face all aglow with 
interest, her dark-blue eyes lifted with their most earnest 
glance, was in her own special deep arm-chair, listening 
earnestly and gravely. As Helen entered the young girl 
rose quickly, and while Miss Armitage looked from one 
to the other with her most charming manner, Constance 
went through the introduction, secretly pleased to observe 
that Helen seemed “taken” at once by young Coleman’s 
manner and appearance. She had grown so “ accustomed ” 
to him that it had not occurred to her to think how Larry 


218 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


must impress strangers, much more a girl like Helen Ar- 
mitage, to whom externals meant the core and substance, 
or at least what she based her judgments — found her likes 
and dislikes — upon. That she admired the young fellow’s 
“ fine air,” handsome face and superb build was clearly 
evident, Miss Armitage never caring to conceal her im- 
pressions ; and Larry, as we know, was thoroughly invul- 
nerable where beauty was concerned. In five minutes 
they were chatting together like old friends. Miss Armi- 
tage declared it was “ nonsense ” for Constance to allow 
Mr. Coleman to talk of going away at once ; and when 
Con looked at her with a little half-lifting of the brows 
she said, with great good humor : 

“Oh, of course — I understand what you mean. As 
usual, you have good sense, but you might have known 
I would not let Mr. Coleman leave at once.” 

And Larry, in spite of Constance’s warning about Helen 
Armitage’s beaux yeux , was well enough pleased to remain. 
His portmanteau was at the station, and Peters was forth- 
with dispatched to have it brought up at once. 

“ And, unless it will break in upon your tete-a-tUe too 
soon, my dear,” said Miss Armitage, “ let me ask you to 
come down now to the library, where the — my cousin is, 
and Mrs. James; in fact, all the rest of our party. We 
are very few now, Mr. Coleman,” continued Miss Armi- 
tage, leading the way towards the main staircase, “ but 
you must come back when we have a larger party. How 
long are you to be down here?” 

“Oh, a day or two, now,” said Larry. “ But later, on 
my way West, I shall be in New York again.” 

“When? — how soon?” she asked, turning to Constance 
as they reached the lower hall. “ Wouldn’t it be charming 
if Mr. Coleman could be here for the Show and the fete , 
knowing so much of flowers! Oh, you really must!” She 
beamed upon him in a way which made Larry determine 
to try and break any previous engagement and do her 


A LOVER OF JUSTICE. 


219 


bidding. “ This will be a great occasion,” she said, im- 
pressively. “ I am of age now, and this will be my first 
real appearance in Garth society since my mourning.” 

Perhaps the stateliness of the girl’s surroundings, her 
own fairness, the richness of her dress, the very jewels 
flashing on the slender hands she clasped together as she 
spoke, all combined to deprive Larry of an impression he 
might otherwise have received from this speech. Cer- 
tainly it did not seem to him in the least surprising that 
the facts stated by Miss Armitage should be of wide im- 
portance. He was quite ready to swear his own allegiance 
whenever it should be required. 


CHAPTER LII. 

A LOVER OF JUSTICE. 

Fenton found an early opportunity, before luncheon 
was announced, to inquire of Constance how she had 
“ enjoyed her morning?” 

“ Very much,” she answered, not quite liking the term 
as he used it; “much more, I fancy, than in the fine 
church you all attended.” 

“I don’t see why,” said Fenton, with his most provok- 
ing air. “Shabby surroundings, a plain, rather uncouth 
preacher and a droning choir do not of necessity stimu- 
late piety.” 

“No, possibly not; but there were not quite all these 
elements in Miss Brumage’s little chapel. It is a neat, 
breezy little place, the minister looks young and happy, 
and he preached with all his heart, even if he did not ad- 
dress the elite — or shall I say aristocracy?— of Garth.” 

“He did, eh ? Come, no w — do you remember the text, 
even ?” 


220 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


“Absurd ! Why not ?” Constance laughed, but glanced 
at him with scorn. “ I don’t believe you do,” she added. 
“ Our preacher, I fancy, chose his own, and I liked it. 
Listen. 1 Love justice, you that are the judges of the earth. 
Think of the Lord in goodness and seek him in simplicity of 
heart. ’ ” 

Fenton listened gravely. Constance repeated the words 
in a quiet, very reverent tone. 

“ H-m. That is in itself sermon enough. By the w T ay ” 
— (he smiled) — “ you are a great lover of justice , it seems 
to me. Do you — are you able to dissociate inclination, 
or I had better say natural attraction, completely from it 
when necessary, and still prefer it?” 

“ I — I think so ; yet perhaps I have not been sufficiently 
tried. At all events, I am sure I wish to.” 

“And what you wish to do from such a motive I don’t 
doubt you will or would do. I am still wavering over one 
or two matters in which the sense of justice bids fair to 
play a prominent part. What a fine-looking young man 
your friend Coleman is, and how captivated our fair 
hostess seems to be.” 

“And vice versa,” laughed Constance. “Poor Larry! 
Let us hope Miss Armitage will deal gently with him. He 
can seldom resist a pretty face.” 

Luncheon was, to Mr. Cargill’s evident relief, announced 
at that moment, Miss Armitage smiling across the room 
upon Constance, leading the way with the Doctor’s son, 
while, after an instant’s hesitation, Fenton saw no reason 
why he should not follow suit with her “ companion.” 


THE POWER OF YOUR WEALTH” 


221 


CHAPTER LIII. 

a TIIE power of your wealth.” 

Whatever Mr. Cargill’s mental or physical disquietude, 
he did the justice of an epicure to the luncheon, ordered 
with the very distinct purpose of pleasing him, by his 
ward, and under its influence he so far unbent as to be, it 
would appear, on the verge of jocularity. Fenton, com- 
menting on this fact, added his opinion that a step further 
would mean chaos. 

“You see,” said he, with his lazy smile, “he is like the 
people who dare not even taste wine. His life is, dull as 
it may seem to us, wonderfully consistent.” 

“ Why do you say us in that arrogant tone ?” demanded 
Constance. “ It is dreadful to be classified in that way.” 

“Oh, well, then, the rest of us — excluding you and the 
guardian. Is that better ? To-morrow has not dawned ; 
but when it does, I wonder will the universe seem the 
same ?” 

“Not to your cousin. Oh, no ! It is a new era, a new 
world ! What has been hidden is her own. I am sure, 
were I in her place, I should scarcely dare face sun or 
moon, or earth or stars — their very glory would seem to 
have been increased.” 

“ Is it possible ?” 

He looked at her with a critical air as she turned to 
glance at their hostess. The clear-cut profile, the cool, 
white throat outlined against black laces, the coil of rich 
bronze hair, and the little curling tendrils about her neck 
— these were points for a moment’s thoughtful inspection 
before Constance turned back to say: 


222 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ Yes, I am sure I should feel that my world had grown 
— had been given a sudden, irresistible, potent charm.” 

u Because of your millions?” 

“Ah, no ! — their power.' * She was silent for a moment 
while Fenton sipped his claret, and then said, in a lower 
tone : “ Is her fortune so very large? Don’t think me in- 
quisitive — I am merely a little curious.” 

“ Yes, it is certainly large, though I don’t think it can 
equal the figure some of her friends put it at. It is noth- 
ing surprising in these days — some hundreds of thousands, 
perhaps — not millions . The plural is — venturesome.” 

“ Oh, well — never mind. It is enough to do it all. Dear 
me!” 

“ That was a sigh ! Come ! I’ll give you the meaning 
of the first you hear from my lips if you will explain 
this.” 

“ I will ! Indeed, it was because of something I intended 
mentioning to you — ” 

She stated little Miss Brumage’s case briefly but with a 
gentleness of tone, an evident comprehension of the young 
girl’s position, which made Fenton say, half-bitterly : 

“ I wish you could make Helen see it in that light, or 
that you had the power you spoke of. But, Miss Reade, 
you will understand me if I say mention this frankly to 
my cousin yourself. Don’t say we ever spoke of it.” 

She did understand ; and the next moment Larry, from 
his side of the table, was asking her whether she had ever 
told Miss Armitage about their very purple roses. Con- 
stance laughed, said no, and explained that they had 
once, in their “ fine work” hybridized some red roses and 
produced something almost a deep purple, which they 
were about to send gayly forth upon the world as the 
“Ambles worth,” when a Rochesterian got ahead of them. 
“And so we were cheated out of fame,” said Constance. 
“ Be careful of your fuchsias, Miss Armitage.” 

“ Mr. Coleman is coming to pronounce on their merits,” 


11 THE TOWER GF YOUR WEALTH ” 


223 


smiled that young lady, rising. As they were all in the 
main hall again, the gentlemen about to seek the smoking- 
room for a time, she gave Constance a look that was quickly 
understood. Something was on her mind which she was 
only waiting a chance to say; and hoping for her own 
opportunity in connection with little Miss Brumage, Con- 
stance followed Miss Armitage up to her own sitting-room, 
where she surprised her by exclaiming : 

“My dear, your friend is delightful! If it were not — 
that is, I mean I can quite fancy any girl falling head- 
over-ears in love with him ! And now for my plan ! I 
have persuaded him to come back for the fete and Flower 
Show, and he is going to get his sister Clare, who knows 
so much, down for one of the days at least! You must 
write at once, urging it.” 

Constance, who had felt her heart leap at the prospect, 
grew grave as she remembered the Doctor’s illness. She 
mentioned this, but it was clear the ground had been all 
gone over. 

“ That is all right,” declared Miss Armitage. “ There is a 
matter of business she must attend to in New York. Their 
brother — the one at college, you know, with the Greek 
name — oh, Homer — he is coming on — or something.” 

“ No, not coming on, exactly ; but there are friends of 
his who will be here.” 

They were both silent for a moment; and then Miss 
Armitage, who had been standing gazing absently out of 
the window, said, in a voice which she tried to make sound 
natural : 

“ How much you and my cousin always have to say to 
each other! Now, of course we — he and I — have much 
more in common, and yet I can’t, somehow, rattle on in 
that sort of a way to him.” 

“ Oh, I hope I don’t, either !” exclaimed Constance ; “ and 
it was he who talked. He was saying, for one thing, what 
a great event in your life to-morrow would be.” 


221 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


“ Was he!” Her eyes lighted, and an expression half- 
triumphant, half-sad, crossed her beautiful lips for an in- 
stant. “Ah ! he does not know ! There is bondage even 
in freedom.” 

“ He spoke of the power of your wealth, Miss Armitage,” 
Constance went on somewhat hurriedly, feeling the time 
for her own petition had arrived, “ and I should think you 
would feel almost dismayed by it.” 

“Dismayed! My dear girl, I am perfectly enchanted! 
If it were not reckless I could dance with glee under dear 
old Cargill’s very eyes ! As it is, I actually kissed him ! I 
felt I had to do something unusual. That was when he 
made me a little formal speech resigning his charge ! Dis- 
mayed! What a funny idea.” 

“ Not at all ! It is a power, and to use it would frighten 
me, and I’m by no means a timid person. I should lie 
awake, nights, for a month or two, I’m sure, calculating 
and planning.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! And lose your bloom, and get hag- 
gard lines in your face ! I have thought out, without any 
such waste of vitality, a most fascinating programme! I 
shall appear at the entertainment en grande dame , of course ; 
then I shall perhaps take a little flight to Saratoga or some 
such place — Newport, most likely; then have a regular 
house-party for a few weeks — two, perhaps — and wind up 
with a fine ball — open the whole house, you know. Be- 
tween ourselves, I’m aching for a chance to invite every- 
body, so that they can see the whole place, and — and every- 
thing. I mean, of course, everybody half-way decent. I 
did think of getting up a sort of general garden-party for 
all the Sunday-schools in Garth — teachers and all, you 
know; but Blake very nearly w T ept when he heard of it, 
and I do believe Ralph would have handed in his resig- 
nation then and there. But the next best thing is a great 
ball. The people, of course, will be all very nice, and I’ll 
make it the finest thing ever known in the county. Now — !” 


“TIIE POWER OF YOUR WEALTIE 


225 


“You have every facility, certainly,” said Constance, 
rather gravely. “ Miss Armitage,” she added suddenly, 
and raising her eyes with a smile of appealing tenderness 
in them, “ don’t you want to celebrate your — emancipa- 
tion —by doing one of your dependents a great kindness? 
It is little Miss Brumage. She and I went to church to- 
gether this morning, and she told me how anxious she 
was to make a little visit home — even before her vacation. 
Her brother is leaving for the West. She may not see 
him again in years. Her home, from what she tells me, 
simple, as it is, is as dear to her as is Fernhills, with 
all its magnificence, to you; and this occasion is as im- 
portant and agitating to her, in its way, as is your birth- 
day to you. She will value a holiday, she will appreciate 
your kindness, I assure you. If possible, do not refuse 
her.” 

Constance had spoken as she felt — earnestly, beseech- 
ingly, and Miss Armitage listened as though a very unaccus- 
tomed train of thought had been started ; but though she 
smiled gravely when her companion ceased there was an 
odd look about her bright eyes, and she said, rather coldly : 

“You certainly can plead a cause well, Miss Readel 
How is it you so quickly gain the confidence, the sympa- 
thy, of others ! I might try half a lifetime, in some cases, 
and win not a step’s advance ! Of all things, it annoys me 
when people in my service want holidays — especially just 
now ! Really, I think it very selfish of that girl. Yet 
you have almost persuaded me; and, besides, I don’t like 
you to think me unkind or unfeeling. I wish — ” She 
bit her lip petulantly. “ What a nuisance !” she exclaimed. 
“ There ! I suppose, as you have asked, I must not refuse. 
But be kind enough to let her know it is a great conces- 
sion on my part. I will no doubt be sorry for it — some- 
one is sure to wish to see the school.” 

“ But think of the pleasure you will be giving a whole 
family ! — and from all accounts they are not too well off. 

15 


226 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


There is a bed-ridden sister — almost every cent this young 
girl earns has to go to her needs.” 

Miss Armitage regarded Constance curiously. 

“ So she has been confidential ! I should not be surprised 
if your next suggestion would be a check for a good 
amount.” 

Constance shrugged her shoulders slightly. 

“ Oh, no — my mission is ended ; but ” — she smiled quiz- 
zically — “ I can have an opinion even on that point. M 

“ There!” exclaimed Miss Armitage; a you had better 
tell your protege to hurry away as soon as possible or I 
may change my mind — and she must be back without 
jail before the 25th. Please make that very clear.” 


CHAPTER LIV. 

MISS ARMITAGE REVIEWS THE PAST. 

Larry’s enthusiasm over the hot-houses and gardens of 
Fernhills knew no bounds, and Miss Armitage, without 
betraying too much ignorance of technicalities, was a 
charming guide. She promised any number of seeds and 
slips; in fact, so radiant was her humor that she would 
have cheerfully presented him with Ralph’s choicest exotics 
had it even been suggested to her, and he was not allowed 
to depart the next day without some valuable seeds and a 
repeated injunction not to forget he was to return bring- 
ing Clare with him. It was evident, much to Constance’s 
delight, that the impression made by Larry on all the 
house-party was remarkably favorable, even Mr. Cargill 
unbending so far as to offer an introduction or two in La 
Chasse, which was Larry’s first destination, and to discuss 
with the young man a certain business venture he himself 
had in view connected with that same region. 

Fenton drove Larry to the station in the dog-cart, 


MISS ARMITAGE REVIEWS TIIE PAST. 227 


thence to return to his own home ; and as Mr. Cargill had 
his correspondence to attend to and Mrs. James a cold 
which confined her to her room, the girls had the house 
practically to themselves. Constance, needless to say, had 
wasted no time in “ speeding ” little Miss Brumage’s de- 
parture, receiving with her almost tearful adieux a most 
fervent promise to u write at once, and never to forget 
Miss Reade’s goodness.” 

Whether to drive down to Gelston and “ investigate ” a 
little in regard to the fete had begun to occupy Miss Armi- 
tage’s mind, when the very evident signs of a storm in the 
horizon settled the question. To attempt any driving or 
visiting was useless, and after gazing from the window of 
the library for an instant in impatient silence she turned 
suddenly to say to Constance : 

“ Come, my dear ! There is nothing for it but to decide 
we are in for a rainy day. What can we do?” She 
waited a moment and then exclaimed, u Come ! I will treat 
you to a bit of confidence, if you like. Don’t decline it — 
I may not soon be in the humor again. W e will go up- 
stairs.” 

The chill in the air which heralded the storm had sug- 
gested a wood fire on the hearth of Miss Armitage’s own 
sanctum, which of itself invited a cosy chat, if not actual 
confidence; and closing the door after them the young 
mistress of the house drew up her favorite chair, bidding 
Constance take her own, saying, with a half-nervous or 
embarrassed laugh : 

“ Now, then, my dear, for a bit of family history. I 
really am doing you an honor. I seldom talk about my 
own people, but — ” Again one of the critical looks she 
now so often bestowed upon her companion — “ I am be- 
ginning to think you are a safe sort of person. 

“ You know, of course, Miss Reade,” she said, in a really 
grave tone of voice, “ enough about me, I presume, from 
what you have been told by my Cousin Fenton and Mr. 


228 


A GIBUS ORDEAL . 


Cargill and from what you see, that I am literally alone 
in the world. But I have some relations — rather near 
ones, too. Any way — oh, I’ll begin at the beginning. My 
father was quite an old bachelor when he married, and he 
was the last man in the world, I am told, to be taken by 
a woman’s looks, although very handsome, they say, him- 
self. Anyway, he was desperately and suddenly smitten 
with my mother, who, they tell me, was very lovely. He 
met her in the home of the gentleman who laid out Fern- 
hills, and whose wife had been at school with her. I be- 
lieve my uncle had sent him (my father) to this Mr. Beg- 
ley’s house on business. He thought of purchasing the 
property for — well, it was supposed to be for my cousin 
Fenton, I believe. Papa fell in love with her at once — so 
thoroughly and so impetuously that he cared for nothing 
but to make her his wife, no matter how lowly her birth, 
how poor she might be, or anything . I wonder if there are 
men like that nowadays ? Well, naturally enough it was 
considered a very fine chance for a young girl who was 
not, I believe, particularly well off, and — well, not likely 
to see overmuch of society. Anyway, Mrs. Begley en- 
couraged it with all of a woman’s love of making a match 
or seeing a romance played out under her eyes, her own 
roof-tree, and no one seems to have thought or cared much 
what mamma had to say in the matter. I suppose, poor 
little thing, she never dreamed of refusing such an offer; 
nor did my father think it worth while, most unfortu- 
nately, to consult his people. 

“The marriage was hurried on. I am sure I never 
heard much as to the consequences to themselves — I mean 
as to whether they were particularly happy or not, but I 
presume if they had not been at least contented, some 
kind person would have been found to tell me all the de- 
tails. But one thing I do know — my Uncle Herbert was 
raging! My dear, / know something about his temper 
over trifles, and I can readily imagine what it could be 


MISS ARMITAGE REVIEWS THE PAST. 229 


over anything of importance. When I was born, it ap 
pears that he wrote to my father that he ‘could not for- 
give my sex,’ so papa very wisely concluded that I had 
lost my chance of inheritance. But one day ” — Miss 
Armitage smiled half-sadly, and hesitated for an instant 
before continuing— “ I was staying, for a wonder, with an 
aunt of my mother’s ; there — I may as well tell you — 
they were a very plain sort of people, but I believe mamma 
was fond of them — and quite unexpectedly my uncle 
called. He had been told by some one that I was there, 
and never having seen me, I presume curiosity got the 
better of his prejudice and ill-will. Anyway, he called at 
Aunt Rowena’s hideous, glaring little yellow frame house. 
It makes me shiver to think of it even now ! I was cry- 
ing my eyes out up in the garret over a grievance, when 
they sent for me to come down to the parlor, and though 
I put on a clean frock I couldn’t make my eyes anything 
but crimson. I don’t know whether I felt most frightened 
or pleased when I went into the parlor, but I determined 
not to act stupidly, and when my uncle said 1 Hello ! why 
the child has been crying !’ I had the grace to tell him 
the real reason, and not leave him under the impression I 
was being abused. ‘ It’s because my new dress is so — so — 
hideous /’ I exclaimed, almost in tears again ; but of course 
Aunt Rowena did the best she knew how ! 

“ That , it appears, settled it ! or at least it formed the 
first link between us ; for my uncle, be it known, was a 
man of the most faultless taste, the most artistic nature, 
and he was at first amused beyond expression. Then, 
when my aunt explained that the garment in question 
was needed by me, and was, she thought, 4 very bright and 
cheerful for a little girl,’ he had it produced. A green, my 
dear, with yellow spots! Hideous is no word for it! He 
turned it over with the air of a person touching something 
in which there may lurk infection, and flung it on the back 
of the nearest chair. 


230 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


u 1 I don’t doubt you think so, my dear Madam,’ he said 
grimly, 1 but I must say I commend my niece for her ob- 
jections. She — evidently it is a question of temperament 
with her, naturally enough come by, and I am very glad 
to see it. Will you allow me to suggest that some un- 
fortunate — some child — be given this, and send me the bill 
for anything in its place my niece may choose. But mind, 
no matter what the texture or color, it must be her own 
choice, and I am to see a sample !’ 

“ Did you ever hear of anything more odd ! Away he 
went, like the genii in a fairy tale who leaves an appointed 
task you are not to fail in, and you may well believe I 
let Aunt Rowena have no peace w T hile awake, day or night, 
until we visited the largest store in town, w r here I chose an 
absurdly inappropriate dress, so far as material went, but 
one which enchanted me, and was of the most exquisite 
delicate sea-shell pink you can fancy. Groan as she 
might, my poor aunt could not prevent a good-sized sam- 
ple being dispatched to my very eccentric uncle. The 
return post brought a check for twice the amount needed 
for the dress, with a note to say a similar sum would be 
forthcoming for my private and personal expenditures 
every quarter, and before the next was due I was sent for 
to visit him. He was by that time living here. Fen 
was at college, but he soon came home, and tyrannized 
over me as boys do ; and as every one regarded him as my 
uncle’s heir, of course he had his own way in the house, 
and I — I — well, I was, I presume, like the rest. There was 
not much money to spend carelessly, however, and my 
uncle scarcely increased my allowance, but when my 
parents died — he had never really made friends with them 
— it was an understood thing that Fernhills was to be my 
home — we went abroad; we travelled South and West 
here. He was always delicate, always very fanciful, but 
very good to me. Fen lived here, off and on — always, 
when we were travelling ; but the property all came to me.” 


MISS ARMITAGE REVIEWS THE PAST. 231 


“And your mother’s people?” Constance inquired, 
greatly interested. 

“Ah, yes ! My uncle never cared for them, and although 
he did not actually forbid all intercourse with them, they 
were practically such strangers that I actually did not 
know my Aunt Rowena or Cousin George when they came 
to his funeral! Don’t look shocked, my dear. Remem- 
ber that for four or five years my whole training had been 
what was likely to make me forget them. Can’t you un- 
derstand ?” 

“ Hardly,” said Constance. “ If they had been bad 
people, or people you had reason to dislike, I can imagine 
your mind turning so deliberately that you would forget 
them in time; but not in your case.” 

Miss Armitage shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Well, I am telling you the truth. Aunt Rowena’s hand 
gave me a shiver when she took mine. It was so rough 
and coarse ! Well, you see how it was ; how it is. There 
was no 'possibility of our being congenial. To renew any- 
thing — well, even socially — was out of the question. Of 
course I have never quite lost sight of them —I’ve even 
paid Aunt Rowena a flying visit, and I never fail at 
Christmas time to send a very substantial present. And 
now, only think of it ! — I must tell you first — to my great 
delight they moved out West — but now they are actually 
coming East for a visit — may arrive at any time. They 
have cousins in New York, and I don’t doubt they will 
expect an invitation here !” 

As Constance said nothing for an instant, Miss Armi- 
tage exclaimed : 

“ What would you do? What can I do?” 

“ You certainly cannot ignore them,” exclaimed Con- 
stance. “Surely you would not wish to do that.” 

“ No, no, of course not. But the question is, just now 
of all times, with the fetes coming on ! No, I simply could 
not have them at once at Fernhills.” 


232 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ But perhaps,” suggested Constance, “ they may not he 
coming for a few weeks. Do you know when? Have 
they written you?” 

The color rose and sped across Helen Armitage’s face, 
but she said at last, evidently with an effort: 

“ There — I may as well give you the letter to read. I 
need not be ashamed before you, as I have told you about 
them and you will not ridicule the — the writing. 7 ’ 

“ I !” exclaimed Constance, actually horrified. “ Indeed? 
you need have no such fear ! Education would be a poor 
thing if it taught us to ridicule those who have missed it.” 

The letter had evidently been written with great care; 
the hand showed how seldom such an effort was under- 
taken. It ran as follows : 

“ Bettley Centre, Illinois. 

“ Dear neice: Your uncle Israel lias businis around 
about next month or this in youre city an I am planning 
to go East with him. I shall likely bring Reana with 
me. I’ll let you know along the time we start when to 
expect us. Respects to your gardeen and love from all. 

“ Your aunt, Rowena Jervis.” 

“ What am I to do !” exclaimed Miss Armitage, in a 
tone of despair. “ Reana is the daughter I Oh, fancy Mrs. 
Pen wick and that cool, sedate Nelly over them ! and the 
Baileys! The first of my relations they have seen ! It is 
too terrible !” 

“ Have you — ” Constance began rather timidly but took 
grace quickly to proceed — “ have you told Mr. Fenton ?” 

“ Yes and no ; that is, I just alluded to it. To tell you 
the truth, I don’t care for his knowing it just yet. Pie is 
rather Quixotic, you know, in some ways.” 

Constance smiled. 

“ I see — you are afraid he would be too hospitable.” 

“ I should not like him to think badly of me for feeling 
as Ido, or to suggest anything unpleasant. Oh, dear! 


A COMMITTEE MEETING. 


233 


if they come I shall not know an instant’s peace ! As it 
is, I am in torture lest they arrive any moment! Well, I 
suppose I can do nothing but wait and pray the Fates deal 
kindly with me! Oh, yes! Fen would, no doubt, suggest 
my inviting them to spend the rest of their days here ! 
Well, there comes the rain in fine shape.” 

The storm which had been darkening the sky had at 
last broken from its bondage of sullen clouds, and Mr. 
Blake himself could be heard going quickly about, aiding 
in closing doors and windows. The firelight was a relief, 
as the world without grew darker and chillier. Helen 
begged Constance to find some “ encouraging ” book, and 
if she was not too tired read aloud a little while. 


CHAPTER LV. 

A COMMITTEE MEETING. 

“ Have you heard from your friend Miss Coleman ?” 
Miss Armitage inquired of Constance during one of the 
“ breathing spells,” a day or two later, when Fernhills 
was the scene of great activity in making final prepara- 
tions for the Flower Show and fete. “ I hope she can come 
for the day at least. She can put me up, I am sure, to no 
end of points about the flowers.” 

Constance hastened to say that beyond the note Miss 
Armitage knew of, in which Clare had expressed her ap- 
preciation of that young lady’s kindness, of which she 
hoped to avail herself, she had heard nothing further. 

“ Oh, then, I fancy she will come,” said Miss Armitage, 
who was in great good humor. “And I will tell you 
what I mean to do, Miss Reade. You will meet Mr. 
Browning to-day, if he does not disappoint us, and he is 


234 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


the very one to look after your friend at the Show — a sen- 
sible, good-hearted fellow.” 

Constance smiled again and said she hoped he need not 
have any office of the kind thrust upon him. “ But Clare 
is one of those people,” she continued, “ who with noth- 
ing in the least remarkable about them, always find their 
own place easily. You feel as if it had just been waiting 
for them. You know she has been her father’s house- 
keeper and right hand, so to speak, since she was fifteen.” 

“ I know,” said Helen with a little wise look — “ one of 
the home bodies of the world.” 

“ Oh, wait until you see her. Now, then, Miss Armitage, 
it is nearly four o’clock, and we are due at the rectory, you 
know, at half-past.” 

u Yes, very true, and we’ll take a little skip around af- 
terwards and have a look at the Hall. Oh, if one little 
thing is out of kilter in our stand I shall nearly die — it has 
been so much talked of. Then,” as Constance prepared to 
leave the room and make ready for the trip, Miss Armi- 
tage having insisted on her being present at this final com- 
mittee meeting, “ dress as well as you can ; we must look 
‘ up to the wives.’ ” 

The drawing-room and library adjoining at the rectory 
were pleasantly full of people when Miss Armitage’s dis- 
tinguished-looking landau reached the door and Mrs. 
Bromley Colestoun, a large, florid, very well-dressed 
woman in the forties, turned to her companion to say, 
with a smile which only half-veiled a sneer: 

“ There! You see our Princess Royal is a little late — 
her way of appearing of consequence.” 

But the eyes of the girl at her side could scarcely take 
in more than the one impression of Constance Reade’s quiet 
elegance — her apparent position, as she entered the room 
with Helen Armitage, as the heiress’s friend ! And in the 
same instant Constance, after exchanging greetings with 
Mrs. Penwick, turned her own eyes in the direction of the 


A COMMITTEE MEETING . 


235 


girl who was observing her, and with a sense of complete 
consternation recognized her step-sister, Genevieve Hen- 
derson ! 

Genevieve saw the look, knew well its cause, and moved 
slightly forward with a little laugh, half of malicious pleas- 
ure, half embarrassment; while Constance, of course, found 
voice to say, “ Genevieve ! Why, when did you come 
here!” in a tone which was certainly kindly, if not par- 
ticularly enthusiastic. 

“ I ?” said Genevieve, feeling suddenly embarrassed. 
“Oh, only yesterday. It was all by chance — wasn’t it, 
Mrs. Colestoun?” She turned, but that lady had dis- 
creetly withdrawn. “I’m staying with Mrs. Tom Cole- 
stoun’s brother’s people for a few days. You're looking 
well,” she added. 

“ How is my father ?” exclaimed Constance, with a sudden 
contraction of her heart. “ Is he any stronger, Genevieve?” 

“No,” said Genevieve, promptly, “ I don’t see as he is. 
And cranky! Well, I guess you’d have a lively time tak- 
ing care him !” 

“ Who does take care of him ?” demanded Constance, al- 
most harshly. 

“ Oh, we’ve a young man now — and Ma is with him, of 
course. Oh, he’s taken care of. I declare, Con,” she went 
on, with her light laugh, “ you’re pretty well fixed, I guess, 
from what I hear. What do you do? Just run around 
with that top-lofty-looking girl?” 

“ Yes,” said Constance, calmly, and enjoying the situa- 
tion as much as her anxiety to hear more of her father 
would allow. “If she runs, I must, of course, as I’m her 
companion, you know.’’ 

“ And — well, you dress well enough, and — why, it’s just 
a lady’s life, then ?” said Genevieve, half-annoyed by her 
step-sister’s apparent indifference or ease of manner ; and 
on Constance, with unmoved good-humor, answering, 
“Oh, yes, quite,” she continued: “ Well, you may as well 


236 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


introduce me. I see Mrs. Colestoun is talking to her, 
though the chances are she’ll save }mu the trouble. By 
the way, who do you think’s been asking for you ?” she 
giggled. “ Old Tom Colestoun ! Fancy his remembering 
you ! You seem to take with elderly cranks. Do you re- 
member that Fenton ?” she pursued, irrelevantly. 

“Did you consider him an elderly crank?” inquired 
Constance ; “ because, if so, it is best to tell you that Miss 
Armitage is his cousin, and he is a frequent visitor.” 

Genevieve’s face had suddenly — even through the arti- 
ficial bloom of her cheeks Constance saw it — turned 
deathly pale; but she said, as carelessly as possible: 

“ Oh, he's all right. I mean, of course, I don’t call him 
old, or a crank, particularly. You ought to know best, 
however,” she added, with a laugh. “ Where is he now?” 

“ I’m sure I could not tell you — ” 

Constance had said so much when Mrs. Bromley Coles- 
toun was seen approaching with the “ Princess Royal,” as 
Gen had called her, in her wake ; and nodding and smiling 
upon her “ companion ” in her prettiest fashion, the young 
lady of Fernhills allowed herself to be presented to Miss 
Henderson, turning at once to say : 

“ Why, Miss Reade, this must have been a delightful 
surprise for you;” and to Genevieve she was most cordially 
polite. But the first sentences were not exchanged before 
Helen’s keen eyes perceived that the meeting had embar- 
rassed more than it pleased Constance, while Genevieve, 
though evidently greatly impressed by Helen Armitage’s 
magnificence, was scarcely less constrained. But to avoid 
asking Mrs. Colestoun’s visitor how long she would be with 
them, to promise to call upon her was impossible, and all 
of Helen’s innate love of details was aroused by this chance 
encounter, and directly an opportunity offered she made 
haste to inquire of Constance how it happened she had 
not spoken of her step-sister’s knowing the Colestouns be- 
fore, etc., etc. 


A COMMITTEE MEETING. 


237 


“ I had no idea she had met these Colestouns,” Constance 
said, promptly, “ and certainly not the faintest hint that 
she was coming up here ; but of course we do not corre- 
spond. Genevieve Henderson, you know, is only my step- 
mother’s daughter.” 

“ H’m.” Miss Armitage looked down thoughtfully for 
an instant, understanding Constance’s position, she fan- 
cied, more clearly now ; since it was evident, from the fact 
of her being a guest of Mrs. Colestoun’s, as well as the 
grandeur of her apparel— Genevieve was resplendent in 
pink and black silk, with a quantity of lace trimming — a 
“picture” hat all roses and plumes, and the most auda- 
cious jewelry — that Miss Henderson was not lacking in 
this world’s goods. But why was her “ companion ” so 
reticent? “Provoking girl!” thought Helen, lifting her 
eyes to see a pained, far-away look upon Constance’s 
young face. “ I believe she is too proud to take me into 
her confidence ! Of course, though, it is easily seen which 
one of the two girls is the better born ! What a contrast! 
Opals and pearls in broad daylight, and with that vivid 
gown !” she reflected, glancing back at the sparkling Gen- 
evieve, who was now talking with lips and eyes to young 
Mr. Penwick, and evidently anxious that Constance and 
her friend should see the young gentleman’s “ devotion.” 

u Miss Reade,” said Miss Armitage, suddenly, “ I think 
we may as well be going now. I’ve said my say. Dr. 
Clapp will attend to all the details for me, and I want a 
chance to look at the Town Hall — quietly, you know. 
Come, my dear.” 

And Constance, well enough pleased that the meeting, 
so far as they were concerned, was at an end, gladly made 
her own adieux , that to Genevieve being only a word or 
two. 

“ I suppose, of course, we’ll meet again very soon,” Gen- 
evieve observed. “ Just now I’m here only for a day. I 
hadn’t mentioned about you.” 


238 


A GIRDS ORDEAL. 


And Constance, under the relief this information afforded, 
actually contrived to put some cordiality into her reply, 
ignoring what the last words certainly implied, that Miss 
Henderson had questioned the propriety of alluding to 
her step-sister being “ employed ” in any capacity at Fern- 
hills. 

“ I presume so. I believe Miss Armitage mentioned the 
other day that she meant to call very soon upon Mrs. 
Colestoun.” 

“Give Mr. Fenton my kindest regards,” said Genevieve 
with something curiously defiant in her tone. Constance, 
as she re-entered the carriage with Miss Armitage, tried to 
think out what it could mean. The girl’s unmistakable 
change of color when Fenton’s relationship to the mistress 
of Fernhills w r as mentioned— now that ring of defiance in 
her clear, high-pitched voice — what possible association 
could she have with a man like Fenton? 

Genevieve’s mind worked rapidly during the next half 
hour. Much as she would have liked to drive about the 
entire afternoon in Mrs. Colestoun’s magnificent carriage, 
drawn by the sleekest of bays, and with liveries that 
“caught the eye” of every one they passed, she was 
doubly anxious now to keep a certain half-appointment 
with an old friend from Little Purchase, who had most 
unexpectedly reappeared at Gelston. Mrs. Colestoun, with 
some other ladies, was going to the Town Hall. Genevieve 
seized her opportunity, and saying only, “Well, then, I 
would rather walk home — my head aches and the fresh 
air will do me good ” — cut short Mrs. Colestoun’s offer of 
the carriage while she was at the Hall, and, as soon as she 
could contrive to do so without seeming uncivil, made her 
way up the hilly street, only breathing freely when she 
was well out of sight and on the river path whose sheltered 
banks hid her from observation. 

Some one — a tall, dark, interesting, very delicate-look- 
ing young man — was watching her from his seat under an 


A HOUSE-PARTY. 


239 


old beech-tree not far distant, and as her pink-and-black 
draperies were seen in and out of the shrubbery he rose 
with a languid smile, tossing away the end of his cigar, 
and saying, mentally, “Now for it!” allowed his indiffer- 
ence of expression to change into something appropriately 
sentimental, considering the clandestine character of this 
meeting and what he was well aware Miss Henderson ex- 
pected ; while Genevieve, blushing scarlet under her big 
hat, laughed and tossed her head as she stood still, say- 
ing, very coolly : 

“Well, Mr. Gibbons, here I am, you see. But I’ll tell 
you at once I’ve not ten minutes to stay ; so no fooling, 
please.” 


CHAPTER LVI. 

A HOUSE-PARTY. 

The 2.45 express from New York had scarcely come to 
a standstill at Gelston on the day fixed for the fete when 
Constance, who was on the platform with Mr. Fenton’s 
friend Norman Browning, exclaimed : 

“ There they are ! Dear Clare ! How delighful to see 
her!” And at the same instant Larry’s broad shoulders 
and fine head appeared above many in the crowd of peo- 
ple descending, and our heroine welcomed her friends 
heartily, presenting them to her companion, who decided 
at once that Miss Reade had not spoken carelessly when 
she said Miss Coleman was one of the “nicest sort of 
girls.” And certainly Clare, in her cool gown of soft gray 
wool, fitting her trim little figure to perfection, the toque 
of black straw with its heron plume surmounting the 
waves of her pretty brown hair — everything dainty, 
fresh, and becoming — had her own air of distinction, 


240 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


to be felt even among the very “smart” set of people 
who were thronging Gelston Station, chiefly the guests in- 
vited for Gelston’s great day by the society families ; and 
as they four drove towards Fernhills Constance reflected 
that Clare would do her credit even among the very fine 
company expected at Fernhills by the next train. 

“ I’m so glad you came first,” Constance was saying, 
while Larry and Mr. Browning discussed some matters of 
recent interest politically. “ Ever so many people are com- 
ing in an hour or two, but this gives you a chance to meet 
Miss Armitage alone; that will be so much nicer.” 

Clare smiled and began to feel as though “ meeting Miss 
Armitage ” took on a new importance. Truth to tell, 
while very grateful for the invitation, she had thought 
chiefly of seeing Constance and the flowers ; but of course 
the mistress of the house deserved her chief attention. 
Nothing, however, ever ruffled Clare Coleman’s sweet calm 
of manner, or made her forgetful of anything that was 
due, and when the carriage drew up at last before the fine, 
imposing entrance of the house itself, she could not but 
feel that an invitation there on such an occasion proved 
Constance’s position a very friendly one so far as its mis- 
tress was concerned, and it gave her face just the color — 
her eyes the sparkle — needed to make Miss Armitage, who 
stood at the head of the steps, think her a “ lovely girl;” 
young Browning for the first time deciding she was — as 
well as a “ perfect little lady ” — actually “ almost pretty.” 

Helen Armitage was in her element. If any role in life 
pleased her it was that of being the grande demoiselle of 
such an occasion — of welcoming guests to her beautiful 
home — of seeing them impressed, rather dazzled, even 
surprised, perhaps, by all the display and grandeur 
“ Fernhills ” could boast. The Washington party might 
have experienced splendors which Fernhills could not 
produce, but they, even, could not find anything amiss ; 
and Clare Coleman, whom she saw at once was by no 


A HOUSE-PARTY. 


241 


means unaccustomed to the dignities of social life, had not 
certainly seen anything better than all this. And Helen 
appreciated her own position as mistress — hostess of it all 
— to the fullest extent. When she extended her slim 
hand, with its flashing jewels, to welcome her guests; 
when she smiled her prettiest, most captivating smile, 
with the least perceptible deepening of color, as she 
caught Larry’s glance of undisguised admiration, her own 
importance seemed to be newly felt; but, luckily, the gen- 
erosity of her nature only made her the more anxious to 
please her guests and deserve it all. She would not, perhaps, 
have exerted herself had there not been something to win 
in the way of praise or admiration — virtue, in Helen Ar- 
mitage’s case, not being its own reward — but success in 
her favorite role stimulated what was kindly ; she was not 
selfish in the measure of her bounty. 

“ So good of you to come, Miss Coleman !” said the 
young lady of the house, leading the way within. “ And 
you”—(to Larry) — “I was really afraid you might for- 
get!” 

Her half-upward glance went directly to Larry’s heart. 

“I!” Larry exclaimed, who, notwithstanding the tu- 
mult the siren’s words and look and manner produced, 
acquitted himself without a trace of embarrassment — in- 
deed, he seldom felt anything of the kind. “I! Miss 
Armitage, I couldn't forget it — or anything]' he added in a 
lower tone, intended for her ears only, as the others 
moved a step or two ahead. “ What I wish I could forget 
is that this is the last time — ” 

“ Oh, don't say that !" pleaded Miss Armitage, feeling on 
the brink of a fascinating little flirtation with this hand- 
some boy. “Now, Miss Reade,” she said, raising her 
voice, “ perhaps you will take Miss Coleman to her room 
and give her a cup of tea. Blake, will you see that Mr. 
Coleman has everything he needs in his own room ? And, 
remember, we have dinner early this evening, because we 

16 


242 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


are going over to the Hall. Mr. Browning and I will have 
a confab.’’ 

A moment later Constance and her friend were alone in 
the pretty room assigned to Clare ; and which was directly 
adjoining her own, and both girls, after a moment’s 
silent inspection of each other, said, “ Well!” in almost the 
same tone, certainly in the same breath, and then Con- 
stance laughed. 

“ You tell me what your 1 Well!’ meant,” she exclaimed, 
“ and I will translate mine I It means ‘ How is everything 
and everybod}^ — first of all, the dear Doctor.’ ” 

“Oh, he is better,” said Clare; yet she spoke with 
sudden sadness, as though the thought of him brought a 
heartache. “But, Con, dear, what troubles him most is 
that we may not be able, perhaps, to keep our home very 
long. Still, we are making a brave effort ; and — ” her face 
brightened — “you know how it irritated him because my 
brother Homer did not take his degree? Well, now he 
seems quite reconciled to that. It leaves Homer freer to 
come to us, and he is with my father now.” 

“That is good. Oh, Clare! — there must be struggles 
everywhere /” 

“ Not here , surely !” exclaimed Clare, glancing about the 
room, into which Nora had brought the tea-tray with a 
dainty little service, fragrant Japan, and delicate bread 
and butter, with fresh cakes. “I cannot fancy a more 
perfect home! And Miss Armitage looks a vision of ra- 
diant content. Surely, struggling is unknown here” 

“ You might think so,” said Constance, a half-sigh 
escaping her lips; “yet I assure you even she has her 
own kind of anxieties. That they would not be ours 
does not make them less, nor that they come in gilded 
guise.” 

“ It should , nevertheless,” said Clare, who was always 
practical, “and for the best of reasons. Her anxieties 
may be, I will allow, great at times, but it is much to be 


A HOUSE-PARTY. 


243 


able to do all which money can and will to alleviate them. 
No, she cannot suffer as we do.” 

“But if the heart is sad?” Constance was beginning, 
when Clare smiled. 

“Ah! you meant sentimental anxieties! Yes, money 
can help even those. It can enable you to forget self in 
doing for others, which perhaps she has not yet learned 
to do; or perhaps she has so far escaped a heartache.” 

“ Oh ! I don’t know,” said Constance, hurriedly. “ I pre- 
sume,” she added, gayly, “that by this time Larry is 
fathoms deep in love. It won’t hurt him particularly, 
he leaves so soon.” 

And then an hour passed discussing home matters. 
Constance gave Clare an idea of her usual day’s routine 
and explained the purposes of the fete and Flower Show, 
while the sound of carriage-wheels suggested the arrival 
of the Washington party and that it was time for them to 
dress for the five o’clock dinner. 

“ How do you like that Mr. Browning ?” said Constance, 
as Clare came into her room to ask her to fasten a refrac- 
tory bow at one side of her belt. “ Not that you have had 
much opportunity for judging, as yet, but in a general 
way.” 

“Very nice and sensible-looking,” said Clare, above 
Con’s down-bent head. “ I hope I will get a better chance 
for criticism ; as, among all the grandees, I shall be glad 
of his eompan}', I imagine.” 

“ Oh, certainly /” said Constance, warmly, delighted that 
Clare herself would approve the plan she and Miss Armi- 
tage had for Norman Browning at the fete. “ He expects 
to be your especial cavalier. Now, then, my dear, ‘you 
look fit as a fiddle,’ as Larry would say. That is a brand- 
new grenadine, I observe.” 

“Precisely — Miss Beam’s very best make! She would 
be enchanted if she knew I was wearing it here.” 

The filmy black net over black silk, with trimmings of 


244 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


fine lace, was all that could be required. A few deep- 
hued roses in her belt, a pearl cross on a gold chain at 
her throat, and one of the roses nestling against the 
smooth, glossy braids of hair which were coiled low upon 
Clare’s pretty little head, gave to her costume a suffi- 
cient air of dinner-dress ; yet nothing disturbed its fine 
simplicity of effect, just as nothing could deprive Clare’s 
fair face of its perfect serenity — her manner its soothing, 
restful charm. 

Constance was in the same gown of brown-and-gold silk 
and gauze which had become a “ standby ” with her at 
Fernhills. With a light wrap and straw hat, she could 
even wear it when they drove to the Town Hall, and she 
had promptly discarded all idea of constant variety in 
evening dress. Her salary had been settled. The sum 
was too large, she had thought at first ; but even fifteen 
dollars a week could be easily spent, were she to allow 
herself the indulgence of too much variety, and Constance 
was determined to lay by at least half of each month’s 
salary. 

The two girls went down the stairs together and into 
the large drawing-room, opened now, perfumed richly 
with an abundance of flowers, and in the evening light 
looking very beautiful. 

Miss Armitage entered a moment later, a trifle hurried 
and nervous, it might be ; but she caught a rapid smile 
of approbation from Constance as she came forward, say- 
ing, in a low tone : 

“ The Washington party is here. We are all to go over 
after dinner. Is my dress all right?” 

“ It is lovely ! I am so glad you are in colors !” 

Constance spoke with genuine enthusiasm ; for the fair 
girl, in her gown of pale-blue gauze over silk, with pearls 
in her hair and on her throat and wrists, looked indeed 
as though the days of sombreness of garb might well be 
over. But there was time for no further confidences; the 


A HOUSE-PARTY. 


245 


portieres were drawn to admit Mrs. James in board-like 
purple satin, followed almost at once by the rest of the 
party. 

There were three of the “ Washingtonians,” as Miss Ar- 
mitage had called them. Mrs. Bruce Greer, a tall, com- 
manding-looking woman of middle age, with hair a la 
Pompadour, snowy white — a becoming contrast to her 
sparkling black eyes and rich brunette coloring. Every- 
thing about this lady suggested a social life which had its 
traditions in an unbroken line of courtesies, and its fine 
finish from association with a world large and varied as 
two Continents could produce. Her manner, voice, even 
her smile, were the result of an existence in which the eti- 
quette of the drawing-room was never forgotten in the 
boudoir; and if she could well afford an agreeable indif- 
ference to idle form or fashion, Mrs. Bruce Greer could 
never divest herself of w T hat had become second nature and 
was largely the cause of her popularity — an air of being 
alway en evidence herself, yet aware of the existence — and 
conventionally considerate — of the well-being of every one 
around her. 

“ Mr. Cargill thinks Mrs. Greer is a great card for me,” 
Helen Armitage remarked to Constance; and observing 
the lady as she stood conversing with Colonel Ivors, a tall, 
thin man with a bronzed face, in which a slight scar on 
the cheek only seemed to give his appearance new dis- 
tinction, our heroine thought she quite understood her 
employer’s meaning. Mrs. Greer looked the sort of woman 
to be at once a guide, chaperone and sheet-anchor in the 
social stream towards which Helen’s thoughts were turning. 

Colonel Ivors was unquestionably a fine representative 
of the New World ; and his daughter, who was talking to 
Larry Coleman with a vivacity which seemed to find ready 
response, looked so nearly like one of the society types we 
see in illustrated journalism of the day that, as Constance 
said later, she and Larry only needed to be labelled with 


246 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


something original in the way of an explanatory epigram 
and their part was fulfilled. She was wonderfully pretty, 
dark-eyed, slim and graceful. Her costume was perfectly 
correct. Her fan was a “ specimen,” and had been gen- 
erations in the Ivors family — as she was even now telling 
Larry, in her half-babyish voice, and with her rather silly 
little laugh, it had fanned the flame of love and war, she be- 
lieved, since her great-grandmamma’s day; and while she 
talked she had a little air of bright expectancy, so to 
speak, of being ready for anything amusing or frivolous, 
or even merely “ funny ” — life being a perpetual succes- 
sion of such episodes in spite of her father’s military rank 
and bearing, his honorable scars, and his complete dignity 
of demeanor. A widower, with this only child, Colonel 
Ivors, without pretending in the least to understand the 
young lady, adored her, since she was all that was left him 
on earth to call his own, and had a sublime faith in what- 
ever she did or said being “ just as it should be.” 

Mr. Browning appeared a moment later. Helen Armi- 
tage’s eyes, fastened eagerly upon the door, could not con- 
ceal all signs of disappointment over Fenton’s non-ap- 
pearance, but she was relieved to be told that he would be 
at the Hall. “ Business ” had detained him ; and even 
after they were all seated around the dinner-table and 
conversation was going forward brilliantly, the mistress of 
the house could not help wondering what “ business ” had 
suddenly arisen to detain Fenton, who must know how 
she needed him on such occasions ! Helen felt puzzled, 
distrait and annoyed, and communicated her sentiments 
in some silent fashion to Constance, who was doubly 
thankful when the dinner was over and they were all on 
their way to the Town Hall. 

Mr. Browning had very naturally drifted to Clare’s 
side; Larry divided his time between Miss Armitage and 
the pretty Miss Ivors ; so that Constance, as best suited 
her, had time to think of many causes for perplexit}\ Not 


“IS THAT ALL, BERTIE?” 


247 


only had she a disturbing sense of Genevieve’s “ near- 
ness ” to her new life — the feeling, slight, it is true, yet 
none the less annoying, that something unpleasant was 
brooding — anxiety for her father — for Doctor Coleman — 
all combined to make her so unusually preoccupied that 
as they reached the Town Hall Miss Armitage, who had 
been for a moment or two watching her narrowly, said, 
with a half-suspicion in her tone : 

“ Come, Miss Reade — what has sent you into such a 
reverie ? Now, my dear, remember— you are to be critical 
and communicative. ,, 


CHAPTER LVII. 

“is THAT ALL, BERTIE?” 

Genevieve Henderson had contrived to extend her 
visit to Mrs. Bromley Colestoun until after the fete and 
Flower Show, having business on hand of a character 
vitally important to herself, or which she so considered, 
and of a nature which thoroughly pleased the romantic 
or adventurous element in her nature. A love affair, or 
— well, even a a flirtation ” — was nice enough in its way, but 
when it came with mystery in its train how much more 
delightful and alluring it could be I Bold, dark eyes, be 
they black or blue — a black mustache — a white hand with 
a ring of costly setting on the third finger — a low, musical 
voice, not without its hint of passion, to whisper soft noth- 
ings — six feet of masculinity in the dress of a “ perfect 
gentleman ” — all of these elements made up her ideal of 
the heroic; how much more fascinating and complete 
their power when the dark-blue eyes gazed into hers; 
when the white hands clasped her fingers — the deep- 
toned voice spoke to her of what seemed like love ! No 


248 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


finer, higher flight could her imagination take towards 
realizing her “ dream ” of all that was good and true and 
worthy in this mundane world than that which the con- 
ditions itemized above included; and accordingly, when 
Genevieve on the same afternoon that the Fernhills party 
were driving into Gelston made her way along the river 
bank for a second rendezvous , she felt herself entirely jus- 
tified in considering herself in love . 

Just what Mr. Bertie Gibbons’s sentiments were, as he 
awaited her coming, it would be difficult to say, but one 
or two points were luminously clear in his mind. He 
must not go “too far;” he must impress secrecy upon 
Genevieve, and he must find out precisely what there was 
“ in it ” from a substantial point of view before going a 
step further. The time had come in young Gibbons’s ca- 
reer when something had to be decided at once. Even his 
“ feelings,” he told himself — liking the idea that they ex- 
isted — must not weigh in the balance with what seemed 
the prudent thing to do. It would be hard to turn his 
back once and for all on that poor girl out in Little Pur- 
chase, where he had also made the somewhat fitful ac- 
quaintance of Miss Henderson ; but what on earth was a 
fellow in his position to do? Bertie beat the underbrush 
with his light cane as he asked himself the question — 
hoped Genevieve wouldn’t be high-tempered, as she had 
shown herself the other day — worse still, demonstrative — 
resolutely put away a sudden thought of Fenton and what 
he would say to all this, and at last beheld the flutter of 
Genevieve’s draperies and heard her measured step ap- 
proaching. 

“ Well, my dear girl!” said Bertie, with the smile that 
facial lines had made agreeable, “ how sweet of you to 
come. There’s a nice little sheltered place just back of 
here,” he went on, “ where no one can hear us talking. 
Don’t say you’ve only five minutes to-day, Gen, for I’ve 
considerable to say and to hear.” 


“IS THAT ALL, BERTIE ?’ 


249 


“ I haven’t much more,” said Genevieve, trying to seem 
careless, but in truth succumbing at once to the fascina- 
tions of her hero. “ Now, Bertie Gibbons, what am I to 
hear?” 

The girl’s eyes, bold enough, no doubt, but honest and 
guileless, at least, were fastened upon her companion’s 
face, and Bertie, who for a moment had almost feared that 
she knew more than he cared to have her, said, lowering 
his voice to an unexpected tone of sadness : 

“ Gen, what would you say if I told you this would 
have to be good-bye ?” 

The network of greenery above them ; the vista of si- 
lent, verdant woodland, seemed to blend in an uncertain 
mist before the eyes poor Genevieve turned suddenly 
away, and a queer sick feeling crept over her, numbing 
her very powers of speech. On as poor a foundation, 
with as flimsy a fabric, how many a girl like Genevieve 
Henderson has reared a structure of love and hope and 
known a dream of bliss! The pang which smote her 
very heart’s core at Bertie’s words has been felt with as 
little cause since the world began, but to Genevieve it 
seemed the blow of some wicked, hidden enemy! At 
that moment to have made him stay — to have bound him 
to her — seemed worth any sacrifice. And Bertie read the 
story in her change of color — her frightened eyes — the 
sudden, nerveless drooping of her muscles even as she sat 
there, and felt almost sorry ! 

u It’s this Way, Genevieve,” he went on. “ I’m obliged 
to own the truth — I’m poor as a church-mouse — penni- 
less, my dear girl ; worse than that — in debt ; so — well, 
all I can do is to say good-bye and never see you again !” 

“ Oh!” Genevieve’s voice came at last, and a sudden 
light sprang into her eyes, her whole face. “ Is — is that 
all, Bert? Are you sure thaVs the only reason?” she con- 
cluded, with a scarlet color in her cheeks. 

Bertie said something within himself which would not 


250 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


have so well borne the outer air ; but to Genevieve he only 
nodded his head, and smiling carelessly, answered, 
gravely : 

“Oh, yes ! — of course ; you must know that.” 

“ Then, Bertie, listen to me !” Genevieve’s whole face 
and figure thrilled with the excitement of the moment — 
the need of this avowal. There seemed not a moment to 
waste. u Let me tell you something. Money needn’t mat- 
ter! Didn’t you knowhow rich we are? Why, Bertie, 
weren’t you around Little Purchase the time that last 
property was bought? Why, we’re richer’ n any one ever 
was out there, I guess ; and Mrs. Bromley Colestoun — 
where I’ve been staying — she’s at me from day’s end to 
day’s end about the grand match I ought to make ! And 
I can , any time most ; only — ” 

As for Bertie, to whom, singularly enough, this intelli- 
gence was news indeed, the transformation in his whole 
manner might have affected even Genevieve at any other 
time. As it was, her absorption in the idea that he had 
been deluded regarding them, as well as in the fact of her 
own overweening affection for him, made her regard it only 
as a token of his joy at finding his wooing might prosper. 
He had, indeed, to control or check the exultation of 
mind Genevieve’s news had produced. 

“ Only /” he echoed, seizing the girl’s hands in both his 
own — “ only you are sweet and dear enough to love a 
worthless fellow like me! Is that it, Genevieve? Well, 
now, sit down again, since we understand each other at 
last, and we’ll see what can be done ! Of course, I’ll have 
to postpone my going West for a day or two at least. But, 
Genevieve,” — his hand rested suddenly and with a tight 
grip on her arm — “ there’s one thing you’ve got to swear to ! 
See? Not a living soul — remember, not one , even — must 
know there’s a thought of anything, just yet awhile, be- 
tween us! Do you understand, my dear girl? It will 
ruin everything. There arc those” said Mr. Gibbons, with 


“IS THAT ALL, BERTIE?” 


251 


an air of almost tragic mystery, “ who would like nothing 
better than to come right between us.” 

And, needless to say, Genevieve willingly made the 
promise, although wishing more than she dared express 
that Bertie had allowed her the luxury of even one con- 
fidante, for to talk of her hero would be next to seeing 
him — listening to him; but on this point Mr. Gibbons 
was unalterably firm. “ Very well,” he said, on her mak- 
ing the suggestion she could “just tell Sarah,” Mrs. 
Reade’s maid, “ do as you like ; but it will be the last oc- 
casion you will ever have to mention my name. I’m 
telling you that frankly now, Gen, right 6 on the square.’” 

As for Bertie, who half an hour later informed his 
betrothed that business compelled him to “ tear himself 
away,” matters were progressing so wonderfully well that, 
as he strode along through the dusk of the river path out 
on the road which led back to Garvery, he almost forgot that 
such a person as Carrie Elbright ever had existed — it was 
not in Bertie’s line to remember the disagreeable unless 
long enough to accomplish its defeat — and he had taken 
good care to lead the conversation with Genevieve into a 
channel whereby he learned how well-founded was her 
boast of wealth. Of course there was always the question 
as to how much of it was actually her own. On this point 
Genevieve was not quite clear herself, the Nepomonsett 
affair having mixed up various matters, but certainly 
since it was derived chiefly from her father, a sum large 
enough to fill young Gibbons’s idea of riches must be hers 
by right of inheritance. Moreover, “ people of that kind ” 
would not fail, when he had straightened out his own 
tangle, to appreciate a son-in-law such as he, and, with 
Fenton back of him, would prove socially. The magnifi- 
cence of the new house, its process of furnishing under 
the “grandest” tradespeople in all New York — the very 
marble floors and staircases — were described to Bertie by 
his lady-love, if not in the most appropriate, at least 


252 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


entirely convincing terms ; and when she said that 
Mrs. Colestoun was going to “set the wheels going” 
early in the fall, Bertie was inwardly angered, but obliged 
to renew his terms of endearment, and insist that she 
would not “ dare ” even think of “ another.” It galled him 
that he could not make his engagement public at once! 
What a saving of trouble all around it would be! What 
a fool he had made of himself — or allowed himself to be 
made ! Well, a worse man would not have been so 
idiotic ! Carrie ought to know that — ought not now to stand 
in his light ! And then one solution of the whole difficulty 
flashed like a streak of flame across his mind ! Why had 
he not thought of it sooner ! Bertie stood still, white to the 
lips, but with a dangerous, triumphant, cruelly-delighted 
gleam in his blue eyes ! He didn’t know the man Jerry 
Duke if he would not fall in with a certain little sugges- 
tion he would make to him before another sundown. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

MRS. BRUCE GREER. 

lt My dear Mr. Cargill, you are not at all immoderate in 
saying times are changed. They are decidedly changed.” 

Mrs. Bruce Greer was the speaker, to whom Mr. Cargill 
listened with grave attention — indeed, with unusual anima- 
tion — since it had occurred to him this lady would prove, 
on occasion, an excellent chaperone for his ex- ward, in 
whom he was really interested — being still rather fearful 
of what might come of her independence. A visit to New- 
port and Lake George had been suggested. 

“ Everything,” proceeded Mrs. Bruce Greer, “ even in 
Washington, seems to have taken on a new look since we 
were young. Ah ! there is the Colonel/’ as that fine old 


MRS. BRUCE GREER. 


253 


officer appeared from the inner drawing-room. “ What I 
say,” the lady continued, “ is that nowadays we seem to 
have only a front-breadth aristocracy — as though none of 
the people one meets dare turn around lest you investigate 
what trails after them ; and as you said, my dear Mr. 
Cargill, or perhaps only suggested, it arises chiefly from 
the absurd alliances girls are making ! We must think of 
family ; and it is ridiculous to say that because we have a 
republic we need care nothing for traditionary civility and 
courtesy, even. Absurd P ’ 

Mr. Cargill’s brows drew together slightly, not caring 
that the representative lady before him should inquire too 
closely into the antecedents of the young lady under dis- 
cussion ; but he looked acquiescent, and Mrs. Greer con- 
tinued, glancing with a smile at the Colonel : 

“You, as a West Pointer, understand me, Colonel. I 
dote upon system and tradition ! You would not see your 
daughter degenerated by a marriage beneath her.” 

“ Faith, my dear madam,” said the sad-eyed Colonel, 
who was proud of his faintly-traced “ drop ” of Irish blood, 
“ I have not the slightest means of knowing how I would 
feel about anything where Izzy is concerned. I never 
knew her to do anything yet that disgraced us, but she 
always has her own way.” 

Mrs. Greer sighed and shook her head over another proof 
of the degeneracy of the times, but remembered her 
anxiety to settle, so far as Mr. Cargill was concerned, the 
midsummer trip, which would suit or fall in with her own 
plans delightfully. 

“ I will expect you, then, to aid and abet my induce- 
ments to dear Miss Armitage to join us,” she said sweetly, 
and preparing to sail gracefully away out of the room. 
“ Ah !” — as the portieres drew back to admit the lady of 
the house herself — “ you come as though Echo called, my 
dear ! We were just speaking of you.” 

“ Indeed !” said Helen, with a slight smile. She was in 


254 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


no very amiable mood. It was precisely as she had ex- 
pected! Her indulgence to that little Miss Brumage was 
entirely misplaced ! Here were all her guests anxious to 
see the school, and not a sign of the teacher’s return! 
Acting on one of her quick-tempered impulses, Miss Ar- 
mitage had paused in the library, writing on a telegraph 
blank : “ Unless you can return at once> needless to come at all;” 
and, well aware the little school-mistress would under- 
stand the threat of dismissal it contained, had dispatched 
it at once — half-afraid her very persuasive companion 
would talk her into a forgiving frame of mind were she to 
delay until Constance’s return from a “ last” trip over to 
the Hall before they all went down at two o’clock. And as 
though this was not enough to destroy that serenity of 
mind which she desired to preserve now, of all times in 
the year, when she was entertaining such a distinguished 
party of guests, Mr. Palisley, Fenton’s “churn” in New 
York, had arrived — was now dressing — and not a sign was 
there as yet of Fenton’s return. “It is deliberate!” re- 
flected the heiress. “ He is doing it to vex — that is to 
show me that he — I am not his first consideration.” 

Accordingly, Mrs. Bruce Greer’s suggestion came as 
though a direct result of inspiration ! Fenton should see 
that her horizon was not bounded by his point of disap- 
pearance ! 

“Newport! Charming!” said Helen, when the plan 
was mentioned. “ I don’t see anything to interfere with 
that after this week — I shall like it ” — she glanced at her 
guardian — “ after our day in Albany,” she added with a 
pretty, filial sort of air, which the others quite under- 
stood and approved. 

“ After our day in Albany,” declared Mr. Cargill, “ the 
deluge! Well, make your own plans. I think this is a 
very good idea.” 

It was a relief from more tiresome or perplexing 
thoughts to plunge at once into a discussion of when, 


CARRIE. 


255 


where, how they should go, etc. The visitors she dreaded 
from Bettley, and of whose coming only Constance was so 
far aware, must, however, be disposed of. But they had 
not as yet appeared. Helen Armitage believed in a gen- 
erous sort of Providence, who ruled affairs in general 
with a direct view to her feelings, and even though they 
journeyed half across the Continent to see her, they could 
be “ managed.” When Fenton appeared, as he doubtless 
would some time later in the day, with that provokingly 
easy manner of his which defied all criticism or correction, 
he should see how little she cared ! 


CHAPTER LIX. 

CARRIE. 

It would be safe to say that among all the company 
which thronged the Town Hall during the Flower Show 
few were so entirely repaid for whatever efforts they may 
have made in coming, or such difficulties as had to be sur- 
mounted before what they desired most to see was in- 
spected, as Clare Coleman and Norman Browning. To- 
gether they soon pronounced so valiantly in favor of the 
Fernhills booth that Miss Armitage was in radiant humor. 
Her new fuchsia, the “ Armitage,” was a centre of attraction. 
Clare found herself, from some reason, questioned, talked 
to, almost “ interviewed ” by a dozen people who, having 
. caught some of her unintentionally scientific opinions, had 
eagerly sought for her criticism and advice, and when 
Browning escorted her through the Hall the two com- 
pared notes with growing enthusiasm, while he was by 
no means averse to introducing various Garth County 
social celebrities to her at their own request, even though 
he would have preferred to have her society exclusively 
to himself. 


256 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Larry was no less popular ; but although still, it was 
clear, under the spell of Helen Armitage’s grace and 
beauty, of which she was thoroughly well aware, he de- 
voted some of his time to the very pretty and piquant Miss 
Ivors, with whom he was speedily on terms of the gayest 
camaraderie , their exchange of light-hearted if not actually 
silly speeches being carried on most unblushingly before 
every one, the laughter they provoked seeming to be just the 
applause the pair most desired. Presently Larry offered his 
arm to escort Miss Ivors down the length of the room. Clare 
was tying boutonnieres to be used as souvenirs, with Mr. 
Browning’s rather awkward but very ready assistance. 
Mrs. Bruce Greer and the Colonel, Mrs. Bailey and one of 
the Penwicks, whose booth adjoined the Fernhills en- 
closure, were all talking at once about the evening’s fes- 
tivity, and Constance was at Helen’s side, trying to keep 
up a rapid conversation which should hide the latter’s too 
evident vexation over Fenton’s non-appearance, when sud- 
denly turning her eyes towards the central aisle, which 
was left free of all encumbrance, Constance was the first 
to observe a visitor who in some way looked curiously 
out of place in a company so distinctly “ prosperous,” if 
not uniformly fashionable, and all really or apparently 
engrossed by the spectacle of floral loveliness unfolded to 
their view. 

It was a girl of about eighteen or twenty ; tall, slender, 
and rather awkward in build and carriage, wearing 
clothes of a rather stylish cut but decidedly cheap mate- 
rial, a hat perilously large and to one side of her head, re-* 
vealing a face in which the striking characteristic at that 
moment was its intensity of expression. The eyes, deep- 
set and of a pale-gray hue, were honest enough, but pain- 
fully anxious in the glance they cast nervously about, 
scanning the face of every passer-by. The nose and 
mouth, if a trifle coarse, were not badly formed ; the com- 
plexion, once fair, was browned by exposure but clear ; 


CARRIE. 


257 


the chin, round and soft, betrayed the same weakness of 
character which showed in the very movements of the 
girl as she slowly walked nearer to the Fernhills booth, 
where she stood at last, gazing fixedly, and with growing 
purpose in her expression, upon Constance herself. 

The movement of the latter towards the stranger, and 
which was entirely involuntary, prompted by some un- 
known reason, seemed to decide the new-comer’s next ac- 
tion, for she moved forward at once, and coming as close 
to Constance as the intervening bank of ferns would allow, 
said in a low voice, and with rapid utterance : 

“ Is — is — a gentleman named Fenton around here?” 

Constance instinctively shrank from the question ; but 
feeling, from some nameless instinct, that the inquiry did 
not bode well for the master of Garvery, answered, 
quickly, “ No — he has not come to-day.” 

The girl’s brows drew together, and she twisted a bit of 
fern nervously in her fingers. 

“And — well — ” she hesitated, and then suddenly drew 
a letter, enclosed in a very rumpled envelope, from her 
pocket — “if he does come,” she added, drawing a quick 
breath, “ I wish you would give him that, and ask him to 
be kind enough to see the party gets it at once.” 

And before Constance had time to realize what she had 
done, or was observed by any one else, the girl had thrust 
the letter in her hands and walked rapidly away. For an 
instant Constance hardly knew what to do or to think, 
and glancing at the envelope in her hands, saw that it was 
addressed in a scrawling penmanship to “Mr. Bertie 
Gibbons ” — the step-brother who was Fenton’s deepest 
care ! 

It was impossible for her to get rid of it except by 
giving it to Fenton, as the girl had desired she should, and 
yet there could be no possibility of doubt that it boded 
ill for his peace of mind ! Were it otherwise, there had 
been no need for stratagem in conveying it to him, and 

17 


258 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


Constance shrank from any part in a transaction which 
bore the stamp of secrecy between such a girl, Fenton 
and herself. But Miss Armitage’s voice roused her; she 
had nothing to do but put the letter in her pocket for the 
present, since Clare and Mr. Browning were appealing to 
Helen to know where she had “ hidden herself,” and Con- 
stance reappeared from the little recess looking pale and 
disturbed, which fortunately Helen was too much en- 
grossed to observe. Of what was being said, what she 
herself uttered, Constance was scarcely aware during the 
next few moments, until with a start she recognized a 
familiar voice, and beheld her step-sister advancing, a tall, 
handsome, very dark young man in her wake. 

“Well, and how do you do?” said Genevieve, gayly. 
“I’ve just met a gentleman I knew in Little Purchase,” 
she continued. “Allow me to present Mr. Bertie Gib- 
bons.” 

And Constance, turning to acknowledge the introduc- 
tion — to mechanically hold out her hand to Fenton’s step- 
brother — felt as though a moment of cruel decision had to 
be met ! What did it — could it — all mean ! Bertie Gib- 
bons Genevieve’s friend — the same for whom she had now, 
in her keeping, that girl’s badly-written, crumpled little 
letter! Genevieve’s policy was clearly now to leave Gib- 
bons with her step-sister. She moved away to speak in 
her shrill, high-pitched voice to Miss Armitage, whom she 
felt certain was, from her expression, almost envying her — 
her fine dress— her opals — her expensive hat — and who 
would be surprised, and no mistake, if she knew “all 
about” Bertie Gibbons and herself! Oh, if only the day 
would come when their engagement could be made known, 
how proud and happy she would be! How delightful to 
take that “ stuck-up ” John Fenton down a peg or two ! — 
indeed, to make all these swells in Gelston stare! And 
Constance ! Wouldn’t she j ust fairly scream ! These and 
many other reflections of a like character flitted through 


CARRIE . 


259 


Miss Henderson’s brain, while Constance, shrinking with 
more and more repugnance from her task, was saying to 
Bertie : 

“Mr. Gibbons, just now — a few moments ago — a young 
girl was here looking for you. She brought this note, and 
asked me — I’m sure I can’t tell why — to give it to Mr. 
Fenton for you, but you may as well take it now your- 
self.” 

Bertie’s face had changed color in a flash, but his eyes 
were fixed on Constance’s frank, fearless young face as he 
held his hand out for the letter; then they fell upon its 
scrawling superscription, and an expression of anger and 
contempt shone in them when he looked up to say: 

“ You — you were very kind. Did she — the woman — 
leave any message?” 

“ Mr. Gibbons,” said Constance slowly, and in a voice 
which must have shown him something of what she was 
feeling, “she asked for Mr. Fenton — then merely desired 
me to give the letter to him for you. We had no further 
conversation.” Constance hesitated and then added, “ I 
know nothing — absolutely nothing else — about her.” 

“ Thank you !” The letter had been thrust into Bertie’s 
pocket. He bit his lip ; the anger in his face had not yet 
died away, but he said, calmly : 

“ It is no concern of my brother’s ; on the contrary, it 
would merely annoy him to be told of it;” and as their 
eyes met Gibbons knew that, tacitly, he had put Constance 
on her honor to be silent. He was very much mistaken 
if she was a girl likely to make mischief or betray a trust ; 
but there was no telling now where or how this would 
end ! Bertie contrived to open the troublesome missive 
somewhere out of sight, within a few moments, and he 
was not made happier or more cheerful by the tidings it 
contained. It ran : 

“ Dear Bert : — I am here but uncle doesn’t know it. He's 
forbidden my coming around . Fm staying just noiv at Lowey 


260 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


Gelston. Any one can tell you , and come £Aere this p.m. about 
seven o'clock, and don't jail, for it's important and I'll have to 
see you . Your loving Carrie .” 

“Now, by all that is wonderful/’ reflected the unfor- 
tunate Bertie, as he tore the note into atoms, “ what has 
brought her on here! And what am I to do about it? 
Duke won’t keep her, since he knows about Gen Hender- 
son, if she was fifty times over his niece; but — oh, well — 
she’ll have to keep her mouth shut for awhile — I must see 
to that — which means, of course, I’ll have to call at Mrs. 
Simmons’s.” 

And Bertie, angry, disgusted— doubly annoyed with his 
own folly in the past and the turn it had caused events to 
take at present — realized that he must not leave the 
brilliant Miss Henderson too long without the restraint 
of his presence. They had agreed to acknowledge a pre- 
vious acquaintance in Little Purchase, so that their present 
association could be accounted for : but of course their 
great “secret” must be preserved ! Bertie had contrived 
to throw about it a most bewitching glamour, which made 
Genevieve think, while she was with him, the mystery 
was more than half the charm. But it was necessary to 
keep her within bounds ; moreover, she of herself had 
made a proposition on the way to the Hall which it might 
be, Bertie told himself, he would have to consider. If 
he could find out just what her “ rights” were in regard 
to “her own” money — Genevieve was sure it was hers — 
why should he not take a little capital for his next “ in- 
vestment,” and then “hurry along” their engagement. 
“A man,” said Genevieve, “ought to know how this kind 
of thing should be managed and as there was a moment’s 
hesitation between them, Bertie had said, with a queer 
tremble in his voice: “Gen, if we were married, no one 
could help it — we could do as we liked.” 

And with this startling suggestion to be considered, Mr. 
Gibbons found himself compelled to meet once again 


CONSTANCE IS REBELLIOUS . 


261 


“Carrie,” whom he fancied leagues away in Little Pur- 
chase ! Such was the result, the complication, which a 
harmless — yes ! a perfectly unintentional — little flirtation 
in a wild region like Little Purchase had brought about ! 


CHAPTER LX. 

CONSTANCE I § REBELLIOUS. 

The Flower Show was thronged until a late hour, but 
no sign of Fenton’s appearing made Miss Armitage the 
more eager for their return home and preparations for the 
fete , 'which would take place in larger rooms upstairs, and 
be the event of the season, at least so far as any public 
festivities went. The judges’ decision in regard to the 
plants would not be made known until the next day, but 
every one seemed to regard the Fernhills display as most 
promising. Others, of course, were close in the running, 
and w r ould receive prizes, without doubt, but the coveted 
medal it seemed, would in all probability belong to Fern- 
hills; and if her mind had only been at rest about her 
cousin, the reasons for his absence, etc., Plelen Armitage 
would have known no cause for the least anxiety, but 
have been most delightfully absorbed with a sense of social 
triumph and personal success ; for, there could be no ques- 
tion that, among all the fine company thronging the Hall 
and the booths during that afternoon, the much-talked-of, 
written about and discussed young lady known as the 
heiress of Fernhills was the one looked at, watched, ad- 
mired, sought for the most. Not an item of her toilette, 
a turn of her head, a glance of her lovely eyes, a smile or 
a word on her lips but was noted, and Helen felt and 
delighted in the honors paid her, caring not a rush whether 
it was personal or merely a tribute to her unusual posi- 


262 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


tion, which left her wealth, such an untrammelled posses- 
sion, her own freedom, her will and pleasure so unfettered. 
It was universally rendered, and Helen was happy, in a 
mood to be gracious to every one — forgiving even to 
Fenton, should he have even half an apology prepared — 
treating his friend Palisley w T ith the most amiable show 
of attention, and insisting that, even though Clare Cole- 
man had to leave on the six o’clock train, to which young 
Browning escorted her, Larry must remain for th efete. 

u You would not surely leave us without a waltz each,” 
Helen said to the young fellow, with beautiful entreaty in 
her eyes. “ Only think of it ! And Miss Ivors, who is 
considered the best dancer in Washington !” 

So Larry was to remain — Palisley drove back to Gar- 
very, a trifle uneasy himself about its master, while the 
Fernhills party made all haste home for an early dinner 
and the all-important toilettes for Gelston’s great occasion. 

Constance, enjoy the prospect of the fete as she might, 
could not divest hersell of the uneasiness she felt in regard 
to the letter she had been compelled to deliver to Bertie 
Gibbons, but there was little time for any serious reflec- 
tion. She was busied laying out the various articles of her 
evening dress when a tap on the door preceded Celerine’s 
entrance with a message from her mistress. Would Miss 
Reade go to Miss Armitage’s room as soon as she was 
dressed? Which Constance concluded meant a sugges- 
tion to dispatch her own toilette quickly and pass judg- 
ment upon some doubtful points in Helen’s. 

“ If I was a girl in a story-book,” thought Constance, 
“ I ought on this occasion to appear in a chaste and inex- 
pensive. white muslin ! Why is it my few good gowns 
look so unlike what the conventional companion ought to 
wear?” 

Nevertheless there was a satisfaction in putting on her 
evening dress of white silk and Chambery gauze, the trim- 
ming filmy lace, the sleeves of which were caught up on 


CONSTANCE IS REBELLIOUS. 


263 


the shoulder with knots of satin ribbon, the square cut cor- 
sage having a trimming of the same, the only color being the 
spray of ferns and violets worn at one side, the green 
resting against the fairness of her neck with prettier ef- 
fect than its preoccupied young wearer paused to observe, 
a slender gold chain about her throat being the one touch 
of ornament given. 

Constance made haste to obey Helen’s summons. Tak-’ 
ing gloves, fan and w T rap in her arms, she hurried down 
to Miss Armitage’s room, exclaiming with such undis- 
guised admiration at the picture the heiress made in her 
superb dress of pink satin, with an abundance of priceless 
white lace, a parure of pearls and sprays of delicate steph- 
anotis in her hair, that Helen felt her triumph must be 
secure. Constance was no inferior judge, and her ap- 
proval was spontaneous. But there was something not 
particularly pleasant which she had decided to tell her 
companion, lest it seem she had wished any concealment 
in the matter. 

“ I meant to have told you to-day, Miss Reade,” she 
said, hurriedly. “ I— -Miss Brumage, you know, actually 
wanted to stay longer at home 1” 

“Yes?” said Constance. “I imagine, just now, it was 
very hard to hurry back.” 

Helen’s face flushed for an instant, and she said, with 
a forced smile : 

“Oh, I settled all that! I simply telegraphed if she 
chose to remain it would mean to lose her place ! She has 
lost it!” 

Constance could not, did not try to speak. But her 
look, the sudden contraction of her brows, the whole ex- 
pression of her face, made words unnecessary ; and Miss 
Armitage, thoroughly aware of her companion’s disap- 
proval, turned to pick up her fan and take her wrap from 
Celerine’s hand, and saying, briefly, “ Come ! we must 
not be late !” led the way from the room. 


264 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Not a thought had she given, it was clear, to anything 
but her own personal annoyance over Miss Brumage’s de- 
lay. The school-mistress had not come back in time to 
display the little model kindergarten for the Washington 
party, and accordingly her punishment must follow. As 
for the hard-working little family — the brothers who were 
leaving home — the farewells being spoken through tears 
and with aching hearts — what concern was all that to 
Helen Armitage, her mistress and employer? She had 
given it a whole hour’s reflection, and — yes! — she was 
glad she had “made an example ” of the little teacher. 
But Constance felt vexed— disheartened — rebellious. 


CHAPTER LXI. 

A “NOBLE LORD.” 

Fenton’s absence, although not entirely unintentional, 
had one motive which made the day an annoying one for 
himself. The man Duke had solicited an interview; had 
discussed young Gibbons in a manner the master of Gar- 
very would have been swift to resent but that he could 
not rid himself of a fear — a belief — that something lay 
back of Jerry Duke’s suavity and insinuations. When the 
name of Constance Reade’s father was dragged into the 
conversation Fenton had been too startled for composure, 
but he quickly saw that Duke’s only knowledge of Mark 
Reade was through some of his old mining investments. 
It was evident that the man’s acquaintance with him was 
neither personal nor recent, and Bertie being the person 
under discussion, Duke speedily returned to the question 
of what was likely to “ become ” of that young gentleman. 

“ Whatever you like to think of me and mine, Mister 
Fenton,” said Duke, shrewdly, “ I mean you to know one 
thing — I don’t want to see him hanging about here! 


A “NOBLE LORD.” 


265 


‘Duke’s* ain’t the proper place for him! I don’t mind 
saying to you, sir, there’s a girl — a niece of mine — a bit 
too sweet on him, and it’s the young gentleman’s place, 
sir, to keep away. See? She ain’t here now — oh, Lord! 
no. I don’t intend to get myself into more trouble — I 
wouldn’t have her. But there, now — I’ve done my duty, 
and my mind’s relieved.” 

Deep must have been the motive, Fenton was positive, 
for this action on the part of Jerry Duke. To have ac- 
cused him of anything disinterested would have been a 
poor tribute to the successful policy of years, and accord- 
ingly Fenton left the place not only with the sense of 
moral and social repulsion it always produced, but deep 
perplexity as to how or why Mark Reade’s name had been 
used. 

This had occurred when Duke, in one of his ornately- 
ambiguous sentences, was referring to “friends in the 
West ” who were encouraging him to enlarge his trade. 

“ There’s a capitalist named Mark Reade,” said Duke, 
with his best imitation of innocence, “ who is said to be 
organizing companies, these days.” 

But as Fenton only stared, Duke’s expression, growing 
more childlike and remote, its perpetrator observed that 
at this rate crops were liable not to turn out as well as the 
farmers had hoped, but for his part he was never one to 
swear at a little rain. The subject was dropped. 

Success beyond the highest ambition of Garth County 
“ society ” had attended the Flower Show and the fete. 
Fenton, as he made his way towards the main entrance of 
the assembly rooms, near which the committee of recep- 
tion were standing, could not but admit that his cousin’s 
part as prime mover in the arrangement of the rooms had 
been very perfectly fulfilled. Her artistic taste, her per- 
ception of form and color, were admirable. With an 
abundance of material, varicolored lights, and richness of 
floral bloom, Miss Armitage had carried out in the colors 


266 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


used a suggestion Constance had made, and as a result 
the floral intention was not lost in that of the mere up- 
holsterer’s art. 

Fenton had to answer to a dozen greetings, and pause 
more than once, before he saw the group in which his 
cousin, some of her guests and various strangers were in- 
cluded. A tall, quiet young Englishman, whom he had last 
seen starting for Mexico, was conversing with Helen. Her 
face uplifted to his, flushed and lovely, was sparkling, 
Fenton could see, with her social triumph ; for the young 
man, evidently very anxious for the next waltz, was Lord 
Greybury, whose unexpected arrival in Gelston the even- 
ing previous as guest of some bachelor friends who had a 
trim place, a yacht, a renowned chef, and rather an aver- 
sion to society, had been already noised abroad, and all 
possible pressure brought to bear upon his entertainers to 
induce their presence on this occasion with their noble 
guest. Their chief inducement had come from a good- 
natured dislike to seem churlish in their own town, at its 
special festivity. Moreover, Greybury had seen and ad- 
mired Helen Armitage at a distance, and the beauties of 
Fernliills were discussed freely at Carrick Crittenden’s 
breakfast-table. She seemed unique in her way. Grey- 
bury had no particular leaning toward heiresses, having 
an income which placed him beyond any pecuniary ne- 
cessity in marriage; but the girl herself, with the striking 
blonde type, her imperious manner, her inborn grace, had 
pleased him. He had no possible objection to yielding to 
Mrs. Bromley Colestoun’s urgent request that he would 
join her party for the fete, “ Tain ” Crittenden also accom- 
panying them. The yacht “ Dolores ” would sail away in 
a day or two; there was no fear of society in Garth 
County demanding too much ; meanwhile he would enjoy 
a waltz or two with that very superb-looking young lady 
of Fernhills, who no doubt would sooner or later be one 
of the fast-growing colony of American belles in London. 


A 11 NOBLE LORD. 


267 


Helen’s engrossment at the moment seemed complete 
enough ; yet, as Fenton drew near, a light the young no- 
bleman bending above her had not been vouchsafed 
sprang into her face, and as the men recognized and 
greeted each other she said, quietly : 

“Ah! you and my cousin have met, then. Are you 
not late, Fen ?” 

“Am I?” he asked, very good-humoredly. “ Well, I 
have this satisfaction — I see the rooms first at their best. 
Pray allow me to congratulate you, Helen. It is easily 
seen that your touch has been given to everything, and 
the result is all that could be desired. Oh ! you are en- 
gaged, I see, for this waltz,” as the music began, and Lord 
Greybury looked very serious. “ I will, with your per- 
mission, write my name down before you start — ” 

He took her card, observed that although nearly full, 
three of their favorite dances were free, and writing his 
name down for each, Fenton returned it, catching her 
smile and half-look of surprise at his cool way of making 
the engagement; but she offered no objection, and was 
soon whirling away with Lord Greybur}^ who, unlike 
many of his countrymen, prided himself upon being above 
reproach as a guide in the most crowded ball-room. 

Fenton remained standing but a moment ; he was eager 
to find Constance, and a moment later his efforts were re- 
warded. She was in the act of disengaging herself from 
Larry’s arm ; Fenton moved forward and said, with a look 
of undisguished pleasure : 

“Well, Miss Reade! Don’t say your card is full.” 

And as Constance held out her hand with a quiet smile 
she said, in a voice very free from embarrassment : 

“Mr. Coleman is engaged, and was just looking for my 
partner.” 

“Then I can take you somewhere to sit down until he 
comes. All right, Coleman — do your duty by Miss Ivors 
at once; I will take care of Miss Reade. Now, then — ” 


268 


A GIBUS OBDEAL. 


he offered her his arm — “ how would ikdo for us to go out 
on that wide-covered balcony? I think your partner, 
wherever he is, will never dream of your being there!” 

Constance looked at him for an instant in surprise, but 
Fenton was entirely unmoved. He offered his arm, said 
“ Come,” and a moment later they had left the ball-room, 
stepping out on to a wide, square balcony, above which 
were deep awnings, and where, although half a dozen 
couples were scattered about, Fenton found two deep easy- 
chairs near the stone railing, in one of which Constance 
seated herself, while he, taking the other, leaned back for 
a moment, simply enjoying the situation in silent content. 


CHAPTER LXII. 

“the evidence of your eyes.” 

Bertie Gibbons had explained in as brief a manner as 
possible to his half-brother that, being acquainted with 
Mrs. Bromley Colestoun, it was highly probable he would 
accept her invitation to attend the Gelsto nfete. This had 
occurred the day previous, since which time Mr. Gibbons 
had been absent from Gar very and Fenton had made that 
peculiarly unsatisfactory visit to Duke’s. There was one 
consolation in it, however. Clearly, Duke had at present 
no desire to entrap or beguile the young man into any love 
affair with his niece. It being quite impossible for Fenton 
to know that a plan very different had been laid, he felt 
as though an unbearable load had been lifted from his 
mind, and was beginning to feel as though “ daylight” — 
or what he called daylight — might be dawning. 

Genevieve, still irritated by the necessity for conceal- 
ment of her new relations with Bertie, had determined 
that on the occasion of the fete he should “ see for him- 


“THE EVIDENCE OF YOUR EYES.” 


269 


self’* what she could be in “ society 7 ’— a term largely, 
vividly, almost luridly inclusive to Miss Henderson, who 
felt it capable of meaning anything from an impromptu 
“barn dance” in Little Purchase to the most august form 
of Gelston entertainment. Bertie might have pledged him- 
self in words twenty times as fervent as those he used, yet 
the girl was too shrewd, too deeply in love, not to miss 
something from the very tone of voice — the manner in 
which the words were uttered ; but she could not combat 
his personal fascination. When with him, she felt all her 
resolutions to be stern and repellant waver; and, needless 
to say, Mr. Gibbons was thoroughly aware of his power. 
It had been very easy to obtain an invitation to join Mrs. 
Bromley Colestoun's party. Her sister-in-law had arrived 
unexpectedly from New York, and Mrs. Bromley w T as in- 
tensely anxious to make a fine show of masculine attend- 
ance for Mrs. Alicia’s benefit. Bertie Gibbons, with his 
poetic face and charming manner, to say nothing of his 
close connection with Fenton, was decidedly welcome, and 
both he and Genevieve had their own reasons for not ap- 
pearing too anxious for each other’s society. 

Madame Rollins had been given carte blanche , and never 
had the daughter of “ poor Sam Henderson,” from Little 
Purchase, looked so well. Not only was her gown of white 
satin and lace perfection, her jewels, for once, in keeping 
with the occasion, although diamonds on so young a girl 
were decidedly out of place, but she was flushed with a 
sense of social triumph. She was perfectly well aware that 
Mrs. Colestoun, who had met Lord Greybury, would con- 
trive to let her heirship be known, while her splendor 
could hardly pass unnoticed, and if all of this failed to 
bring Bertie to the last point of submission, it would be 
because he was beneath contempt. 

And Genevieve had not reckoned without her host. 
Bertie was quite on time at the Colestouns’ place, and, be- 
fore the appearance of any of the rest of the party, Gene- 


270 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


vieve came into the drawing-room where he was waiting. 
It was clear that he was taken most agreeably by surprise. 
But as she stood within the parted curtains of red silk, 
smiling at him for a moment in a silence which seemed 
to say she awaited his verdict, his applause, Gibbons was 
really startled by the brilliant if somewhat theatrical 
effect produced. The diamonds flashing on her neck and 
arms and in her hair were very real; their light was 
scarcely less than that which made her eyes, for the mo- 
ment, almost lovely ; her gown was the richest of white 
satin — the lace adorning it even Miss Armitage could not 
rival; she looked the incarnation of prosperous Western 
youth; and the magnificence of the picture atoned, in 
Bertie’s eyes, for all lack of shading, all delicacy of effect. 

“ Upon my w T ord, Gen,” he said, approaching her w T ith a 
smile, “ you look superb ! Dare I even think of a dance 
with you?” 

Genevieve, not feeling quite as self-possessed as her attire 
would demand, moved away, saying, with a shrug of her 
shoulders : “ Oh ! I guess you can dare pretty well, if it 
comes to that. It isn’t likely, however, you’ll weary me 
during the evening. I guess you’re one of the sort that 
likes to be kind all around the room.” And before this 
withering sarcasm could be answered the two Mrs. Coles- 
touns appeared, and the party were soon on their way to 
the Hall. 

“ Remember,” Genevieve had contrived to say to Bertie, 
“ I know Fenton, so don’t flare up if you see me talking 
to him.” 

The Colestoun party were soon surrounded by partners 
in their own set, but “Mrs. Tom ” was specially anxious 
to find Constance Armitage. Sufficient doubt as to the 
outcome of certain business matters held her social im- 
pulse in check, and she had decided to keep on the safe 
side with both Constance and her step-mother, especially 
as “ poor old Tom ” seemed so bent on inquiring from 


THE EVIDENCE OF YOUR EYES.” 


271 


time to time, in his gruff but ever kindly fashion, for 
“ that capital girl, Miss Reade.” 

The rectory party grouped in a repellant sort of fashion 
at one side of the room. Mrs. Penwick, chaster and se- 
verer than ever, in stiff gray silk, and Nelly, with all the 
weak points of her appearance — all that was angular and 
bony — emphasized by a gown of thin pink silk, were dis- 
cussing Constance as Mrs. Tom Colestoun, a stranger to 
them all, drew near, and she paused in an inadvertent 
manner to hear what was being said. 

“ No one really knows anything about her,” Mrs. Pen- 
wick was saying in her most judicial manner. “ Helen 
Armitage never had a grain of sense. Where she picked 
the girl up is a mystery to me, and I wonder what Mr. 
Fenton would say if he knew that actually, at the Flower 
Show, she was seen to slip a note into that good-looking 
young Gibbons’s hand! Oh, yes, indeed ! You can’t go 
far away from the evidence of your own eyeSj you know.” 

Mrs. Colestoun listened — perplexed, annoyed, yet in- 
clined to be indignant, for with all her worldliness she 
had a keen insight into human nature which made her 
rightly judge a character so fearless and high-minded as 
was Constance Reade’s. The girl might be — possibly was 
— 'epris with that decidedly fascinating, indifferent John 
Fenton, the nature of whose attentions she could only 
guess ; but to suspect her of, at the same time, carrying 
on anything underhand with his step-brother was impos- 
sible. “There is a mystery somewhere,” thought Mrs. 
Colestoun. “ These women no doubt are only jealous — 
but they can do incalculable harm ; and — yes ! — I hon- 
estly like tho girl ! I believe she could make me a better 
— anyway a happier— woman if I had her with me. How 
can I put her on her guard ?” And Mrs. Colestoun, saun- 
tering down the room, was presently surprised to come 
upon Genevieve and young Mr. Gibbons in close conver- 
sation. Genevieve’s face was down-bent but flushed; 


272 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


Gibbons, bending over her, seemed pleading, and urging, 
even insisting ; and, although not a word which was 
being said reached Mrs. Colestoun, their import might be 
fairly guessed. A young man does not speak and look 
at a girl in that way unless he is urging upon her the 
claims of affection or pleading for a return ; nor does a 
girl listen in that flushed, palpitating silence unless 
keenly affected. 

“Upon my word,” reflected the astute woman of the 
world, “ I believe there is something at work which Con- 
stance ought to know. Dare I tell her ?” 


CHAPTER LXIII. 

ON THE BALCONY. 

“ I don’t need to ask you if } T ou are enjoying yourself,” 
Fenton said. “Luckily, you haven’t yet acquired the 
society manner which completely disguises one’s real 
emotions; and you look — well, quite happy.” 

“Do I?” said the girl, turning swiftly towards him. 
“ Well, in a measure, yes — I am. I have some discordant 
feelings, but on the whole I am contented. And yet — ” 
she half-hesitated — “ don’t laugh at me when I tell you I 
don’t think I ought to be.” 

“ Oh y I suppose there is something on that conscience 
of yours!” He laughed. 

“ Not exactly, unless conscience and mind are closely 
allied, as I suppose they are. I wonder why it is, Mr. 
Fenton,” the girl added, with sudden gravity, “ I cannot 
for the life of me feel satisfied ?” 

“ H’m. Perhaps you are not alone in the mood.” 

“ No — no ; but it is a dissatisfaction which seems almost 
ungrateful! Let me tell you I simply revel in the luxu- 
rious side of life, and at Fernhills I find my tastes grati- 


“THE EVIDENCE OF YOUR EYES. 


273 


fied as they never were before; yet I not only dread 
encouraging this element in myself, but I feel that the 
possibility of something higher, larger, better in every way 
is suffering. The present conditions of my life fulfil 
nothing; it is purposeless— disheartening !” 

Fenton leaned forward so that he could look more 
closely into the fair face, which .seemed to pale and flush 
and pale again as she ceased speaking. 

“ Miss Reade,” he exclaimed, “ I am sure I understand 
your meaning; and yet I think you are wrong. It can- 
not be purposeless if you put, as I know you do, an ele- 
ment of finer, higher thought and action into Helen’s 
existence.” 

“No” — she spoke hurriedly and with a sad inflection — 
“ it is that I do not, I cannot , which troubles me the most.” 
She broke off suddenly. On the verge of telling him about 
Miss Brumage, she realized it would be placing Helen Ar- 
mitage in a position he would certainly criticize severely 
— a mean advantage she would never take ; and she made 
haste to say, “ Life — my life, anyway — at Fernhills seems 
to have all its concentrations urged towards merely in- 
ferior objects. I only amuse Miss Armitage when I am 
not usefully employed. There is a larger demand ; we 
are all, I am sure, created for some distinctive work. 
Mine, I am convinced, is not the idle existence I am lead- 
ing now; it is developing in me. the very traits I ought to 
subdue.” 

“ But all the same,” said Fenton, “ I do not think you 
need fear over-indulging this love of the beautiful in your- 
self; and I am sure ” — he just touched her hand as it 
rested on the balustrade — “you are influencing Helen 
well. And — ” 

She turned suddenly, moved by an irresistible impulse, 
and said, in a low tone: 

“ Mr. Fenton, suppose I failed to meet your kind and I 
fear too generous estimate of what is a good influence ? 

18 


274 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Suppose there should be something you could not under- 
stand—/ could not explain?” She thought of Bertie 
Gibbons. 

Fenton rose, leaned back against the stone pillar of 
the balcony, looked down upon her with a queer chill 
creeping through his veins, and answered, in a baffled 
tone : 

“ I — I suppose I would have to wait.” 

“ Ah ! but would you ?” 

“ I — how can I tell ?” He bent forward. The words 
“ If I had the right to know all your heart you dare not 
say that ” were on his very lips, when the voices of Izzy 
Ivors and Larry Coleman sounded, and those light- 
hearted young people emerged from the ball-room — 
Larry in the gayest, most audacious mood, evidently 
pleading with Miss Ivors for one special rose from her 
bouquet ; and Miss Izzy, shaking her pretty head and 
looking at the young man with her lovely eyes, was say- 
ing, as she made a feint of striking him with her fan: 

“ Oh, you naughty, naughty man ! I shall cry, or some- 
thing! I shall slap you! I know I will. There , now! 
your arm’s broken. Didn’t that hurt? Ain’t you 
horrid /” 

Fenton and Constance exchanged a glance. 

“The mental effort is beyond me!” he whispered. 
“Come — there is another waltz begun. Your partner, 
whoever he may be, didn’t find you. This shall be 
mine.” 

And for the next ten minutes all other sensations gave 
way before the delightful one of dancing where the move- 
ments were not too swift, never rushing or impetuous, 
but in complete harmony. Fenton's step and her own 
fitted perfectly — the motion was rhythm; and his arm, 
upholding her firmly, though it scarcely touched her 
waist, was a sure guide in and out of a ball-room now 
well filled, but where more than one person watched the 


“THE EVIDENCE OF YOUR EYES.” 


275 


unusual spectacle of Mr. John Fenton of Garvery dancing 
with Miss Armitage’s “ companion.” 

The evening had justified Helen Armitage’s very highest 
expectations in so far as her own success was concerned. 
She was unquestionably the most prominent and admired 
figure in the ball-room. Her importance was shown in 
every way — never more clearly than when Carrick Crit- 
tenden, who was known to be averse to everything con- 
ventionally social, coolly informed her he had been 
brought thither simply on her account; and Greybury’s 
attentions were so marked that the dowagers with no girls 
under their wing were elated, and those who had sprightly 
young eligibles on the floor were forced to admit it was 
useless to be hopeful when Helen Armitage was near by. 
Her star seemed clearly in the ascendant, and even Fen- 
ton’s manner, when he came up for a “ last ” dance, was 
too agreeable to cause her to be critical. No doubt he had 
danced twice with Miss Reade out of kindness; and he 
could not but be pleased to see how pleasant she had been 
with his step-brother Bertie, with his friend Mr. Palisley, 
and with that “miracle of thinness,” as Bertie had called 
her, Mrs. Tom Colestoun. She had a whole budget to 
unfold to Constance Reade, who no doubt had been ob- 
serving various matters for her benefit, to be discussed 
later — Helen seldom realizing that any deeper engross- 
ment than her own affairs could occupy the minds of 
those in her employ. 

But Constance, truth to tell, although greatly enjoying 
the Gelston fete, had not found its social charm one of 
unmixed delight. Mrs. Colestoun, just before supper, had 
contrived a little chat with her, in which she skilfully, 
artfully, introduced Bertie Gibbons’s name, asking Con- 
stance if she had any idea whether that remarkably good- 
looking young man had — well — perhaps a flirtation on 
hand. “Anything he’s keeping from his brother, you 
know?” said Mrs. Tom. 


276 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Constance trembled, but she said, very quietly : 

“How should / know, Mrs. Colestoun? I am scarcely 
even acquainted with him.” 

Genevieve had drawn near. Constance was already 
aware of her previous acquaintance with Bertie, the young 
lady having told her of it earlier in the evening. “ Gen,” 
she said, suddenly, “ Mrs. Colestoun is wondering whether 
your friend Mr. Gibbons is — perhaps engaged.” She could 
not forget the episode of the note she had delivered ; yet 
surely there could be no connection between it and her 
step-sister. 

“ Engaged?” echoed Genevieve. “ Well, I rather guess 
not! Upon my word, people are pretty lively in their 
talk — ain’t they, Mrs. Colestoun ?” 

But Genevieve felt as if she could never wait to see 
Bertie again— to warn, to advise, to urge him. He came 
up to fulfil his engagement for a final dance, and Gene- 
vieve, eager though she might be to be observed as one 
of the moving, whirling crowd upon the floor, shook her 
head. 

“ No, Bertie,” she half-whispered. “ Come along to 
where we can talk a little bit. I’m so worried ! Oh, why 
do I bother my brains about you, any way 1” 

Bertie laughed. He led the way carelessly to the 
veranda, where Genevieve’s impatience, however, forbade 
her sitting down. She stood up near the balustrade, the 
moonlight falling upon her face with its becoming gla- 
mour, the diamonds in her hair, on her neck and arms, 
shining brilliantly. 

“ Why do you care, Gen ?” said Bertie, with one of his 
sudden impulses. “ Because you’re going to make a man 
of me at once. You are of age — or you will be in a week 
or two — of an age to do as you see fit. But, all things 
considered, we can’t stand up before the world at once 
and say what we can to-morrow — if you’ll only say the 
word, before the nearest parson !” 


A RAINY MORNING PARTY, 


277 


CHAPTER LXIV. 


A RAINY MORNING PARTY. 


ConstAxYCE was awakened the day after the fete by the 
rush and beating of rain against the windows, and never 
had the resources of a country-house been put to a severer 
test than' during the morning which followed, for the rain 
continued to come down in torrents. The lawns and 
gardens were drenched and half-hidden in circling vapors, 
while it almost seemed at one time as if Peters could not 
even venture on his pony for the mail. But such a catas- 
trophe as being deprived of the morning journals and 
letters had never yet befallen Fernhills, and was happily 
averted, although the postman was so long gone that one 
after another of the party drifted into the librar}^, where, 
as the air was chill, a wood fire had been started and 
everyone seemed ready to talk, even though, as in the case 
of Larry and Miss Ivors, the level of thought reached was 
not particularly lofty. 

“ What was that prayer I heard as a boy ?” the Colonel 
said, suddenly. “ A country farmer, who was a deacon 
of the church, prayed, ‘ O Lord, do not send us any more 
rain ; but if it must rain, do not let it be severe, Lord, but 
only a gentle sizzle-sozzle .* I wish, Fenton, this would turn 
into a sizzle-sozzle.” 

“ Precisely. But, whether or not, must you leave to- 
day ?” 

“ I fear I must — ” 

“Here are the letters !” exclaimed Miss Armitage, the 
bag being handed her at the same moment that Mrs. 
Bruce Greer made her appearance, as Fenton said to Con- 
stance, as though “ Letters ” were her u cue ” in the com- 
edy of the day. Helen unfastened it with nervous haste, 
and distributed the contents so impartially that every one 



278 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL. 


but Constance had his or her portion. But Constance, 
who was standing near, saw at once that something in 
Miss Armitage’s own mail had annoyed her. She cast a 
swift glance at her “ companion,” followed by another, 
which Constance rightly interpreted to mean they would 
adjourn as soon as possible upstairs; and as, in a moment, 
nearly every one had discovered something to answer in 
his or her budget, the party dispersed — all but Larry and 
Miss Ivors, who were occupied in what looked like an ex- 
change of complete inanities in the furthest window, but 
which made them oblivious to all that was going on 
around them. 

Miss Armitage had no sooner reached her own sitting- 
room than, closing and locking the door, she exclaimed: 

“My dear, the Jervises may come at any moment! I 
shall be in misery now until all my guests are gone ! 
Here is a line from the Albany people who have charge 
of some of the estate ; and you see — or I saw — there was 
a letter for Mr. Cargill from them as well. I wish I could 
talk it over freely with Fenton !” 

She turned her face away towards the window and sighed. 

“ And why can’t you ? I should simply ask him to talk 
over a little business with you.” 

“Would you! He would not think I was — well, call- 
ing attention, as it were, to my own importance?” 

“ How could he !” Constance rose, and with a sudden 
impulse added, “ Let me go with some message at once 
to him. I am sure he cannot be so grossly conceited as 
to imagine you mean more than a need of his advice — ” 

“And it is raining so wildly no one will call! Even 
the Colestoun party would not think of coming over. 
They talked of it — and — who do you suppose? — Carrick 
Crittenden ! But of course he was only coming on Grey- 
bury’s account.” She hesitated a moment and then said, 
with her pretty smile : “ I’ll let Fen alone. My dear 
young Cassandra, how do you begin to think I acquit my- 


A BAINY MOBNING PABTY. 


279 


self in society ? You can’t say now; you have not seen me 
enough to know ! Do I — well, give me your opinion.” 

“ Frankly,” said Constance, “ I think you do your part 
wonderfully well ; but the less you think about it the bet- 
ter, I am sure.” 

“ And did I look quite — well, you must know I over- 
heard some one say I looked regal . Now, did I — quite?” 

Constance had to smile. The question, though artlessly 
put, was so characteristic, and delivered in such an im- 
pressive manner, that she dared not refuse an answer. 

“ Regal is very grand, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anyone 
of regal birth, but I am sure no one could look the part 
better than you did last night.” 

“ Then Fenton must see I am fit for my fortune,” she 
exclaimed ; “ for to be dowdy-looking, or a fright, or un- 
ladylike, you know, and very rich, would be intolerable. 
He would not like such a mistress of Fernhills.” 

“It does sound incongruous,’ * said Constance, rather 
absently. She was thinking of her conversation on the 
balcony with Mr. Fenton the night before, and how 
entirely this hour’s employment bore out what she had 
said as to finding her life at present profitless from every 
point of view. “ You can be regal,” she added suddenly, 
and turning around to bend over Miss Armitage, who had 
seated herself before her Davenport. “ There can be no 
sceptre like the one which rules the hearts and happiness 
of others ! Your power seems to me boundless.” 

“ And yet ” — Helen turned so that she looked up into 
the face bending above her — “ what I would do so will- 
ingly I cannot.” 

They were both silent for a moment ; and at last, laying 
down her pen, Helen said in a low, constrained voice : 

“Think what you like! — at least I know I can trust 
you. I have tried — Mr. Cargill is trying even now — to 
settle Fernhills at once upon my cousin! I am wretched 
in it, lately. If only he will accept the gift !” 


280 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Constance stood still in amazement ! Surely there could 
be but one motive in such a transfer — but one way in which 
Fenton could allow it to be made. 

“ And your cousin ?” she asked. “ What does he say ?” 

“ He is not aware of it as yet, but after my Albany visit 
he will be told.” 

“ And about your friends who are coming ?” Constance 
roused herself to change the subject. “ When will they 
arrive ?” 

“ Let us hope not before day after to-morrow, when 
every one will have gone. We must go over to the yacht 
to-morrow. Did you hear about it? Lord Greybury’s 
man came with a note from Carrick Crittenden, and one 
from his lordship. I am vexed that Fenton cannot be 
there until the evening. We are to dine on board. What 
shall you wear ?” 

“I? Oh, Miss Armitage, might I not be excused? I 
will tell you why.” Constance had proceeded so far when 
Miss Armitage exclaimed, as though struck by something 
forcible in her own mind : 

“ I will tell you what you can do. You can wait here 
until in the afternoon — I am expecting a telegram any 
minute from the Jervises ; then if I say to Fenton he must 
bring you over to the yacht by six o’clock, it will inmre his 
coming. I want him to see that Greybury really likes me.” 

Constance, however she might feel herself simply being 
made of use in such an arrangement, could not but reflect 
it was, after all, but carrying out her part of their bargain; 
but she disliked Fenton’s being detailed off, so to speak, 
^ to wait upon her. However, if the small-boat were sent 
in-shore for them, his labors would not have to be very 
severe. 

Helen now occupied herself for half an hour inspecting 
an appropriate costume, and only regretting there had 
been no time for one of the almost magical dispatches to 
Rollins. 


A DESPERATE MEASURE. 


281 


“But they may — probably will — cruise around Newport. 
If I go there,” she added, “ with Mrs. Bruce Greer, as 
seems now on the cards, I should have quite a variety 
of gowns. I wish you would think up some striking 
designs.” 


CHAPTER LXV. 

A DESPERATE MEASURE. 

Genevieve Henderson made not the slightest attempt 
to sleep on returning from the all-important fete in Gels- 
ton. Even had there been time to do so, she could not 
have closed her eyes, with the thought of what lay before 
her. Her cheeks were burning — her pulses throbbing — 
but the excitement had in it a sort of ecstacy which pre- 
vented any possibility of her breaking down either physi- 
cally or in her present purpose. Never in all her life had 
such a critical hour confronted her; but Genevieve had 
never known what it was to deny herself anything, to 
look for advice, or to fear censure. Restraint was unknown 
to the girl, as was all kind of discipline, and that she owed 
it to any one on earth to reveal her present plans never 
once occurred to her mind ; and as she reviewed them, 
sitting in the window of her room at Mrs. Colestoun’s, 
watching the summer sun rise through clouds that 
heralded a storm, she felt as though what she was about to 
do was at once the most heroic, daring, and delightful 
thing imaginable! And was it not precisely what one 
ought to expect of such a fascinating, Byronic sort of hero 
as Bertie Gibbons? It mattered nothing what his reasons 
might be ; the splendor of his eyes, the cameo-like outline 
of his features, the music of his voice, the terms of endear- 
ment which sounded so bewitching on his lips — was not 
all this enough to make a girl yield at once to his sugges- 


282 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


tion of a private— a secret — marriage? For such was 
Bertie’s idea — such the step poor, silly, infatuated Gene- 
vieve was about to take — never pausing to reflect that, 
unless in some almost unheard of case, no man ever asks 
a girl to agree to such a concealment who dares to face the 
verdict, the presence, the knowledge of her friends ! That 
it argued some reprehensible motive for secrecy did not 
occur to her. Bertie was her hero of romance — her Knight 
Valiant — her chevalier sans peur — if, indeed, not sans 
reproche; and the very rapidity and skill with which he 
had made her leaving Mrs. Colestoun’s home easy was in 
itself a proof of the sort of daring which all heroes are sup- 
posed to have, and which only, she was quite sure, the 
ardor of his passion could have roused within him. He 
was to have a letter reach her by a messenger-boy about 
seven o’clock, and immediately on its receipt she was to 
depart, leaving a message, verbal or written, for Mrs. 
Colestoun, saying she was obliged to go to town at once, 
but would return the same afternoon. They might think 
what they liked — Bertie would see that she did call at the 
marble house, and so no one need know of what inter- 
vened until the runaways saw fit. 

Genevieve felt it a grievance that she was obliged to go 
away in the rain ; she could not dress as she liked — could 
dazzle Bertie with nothing gorgeous as a bridal garb ; but, 
after all, what were these points compared to the supreme 
bliss awaiting her — that of knowing that when she re- 
turned to Gelston it would be in spite of what the world 
called her, no longer Genevieve Henderson, but Mrs. Al- 
bert Gibbons? 

Mrs. Albert Gibbons ! Genevieve tried it aloud — re- 
peating it in a delighted, mysterious whisper two or three 
times ; and then the stable clock pealing forth seven 
strokes startled her into hurrying her toilette, as any mo- 
ment, now, the messenger of Cupid might arrive. 

And she was none too soon. The quarter was just 


A DESPERATE MEASURE. 


283 


striking when a step along the passage and a tap on her 
door made her spring forward to open it for a rather cross 
and sleepy housemaid, who handed her a note, which she 
opened with trembling fingers. 

“ Oh ! oh ! I’ll have to go right to town !” exclaimed 
Miss Henderson, with well-feigned surprise. “ But I’ll 
be back to-night — or this afternoon. It’s just a little 
business matter.” 

Genevieve’s heart was beating wildly; but when the 
maid said, “Will you want a cup of coffee, Miss?” she 
dared not delay. 

“Oh, no! never mind; and the station is so near I 
can walk, of course. Wait a bit,” added Genevieve, as she 
pulled open her bureau-drawer and with nervous hands 
produced a silver half-dollar, handing it to the somewhat 
surprised but now wide-awake girl. 

“ Please tell Mrs. Colestoun how it is,” she went on. 
“ I got a letter and had to go at once, but I’ll be sure to be 
back — ’round about four o’clock.” 

It seemed an eternity to Genevieve until, dressed in her 
walking costume of summer tweed, with a vail of dotted 
net over her face, her smallest satchel in her hand con- 
taining her purse, a little pearl powder, etc., and with 
Bertie’s telegram in a side-pocket, she made her way out 
of a small door in the quiet house, and thence, with 
steps that never faltered, though she was still trembling 
visibly, down the avenue and out across the road to the 
little station of Gelston Corners, where it seemed to her, 
as she bought her ticket for the next point on the river 
road, the ticket-agent must know or surmise her secret ! 
But their was neither mystery nor tragic import in such 
an every-day occurrence to him, and if his mind was dis- 
turbed on any subject it was in regard to the breakfast 
which would be awaiting him as soon as the 7.20 way 
train passed on. Not another passenger appeared until 
just as the train was starting; then it was only a woman 


284 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


with a cross baby and several bundles, the disposition of 
which occupied her full attention ; and thus Genevieve 
started on the first stage of her journey entirely unob- 
served and unquestioned. Her instructions were to leave 
the train at Pulverlev, five or six miles below, and walk 
up the road leading directly from the station to the 
school-house. What she should find there Bertie left her 
to guess, but she was very sure it would be all right. One 
could not expect a hero to go into every detail when he 
was running away with his heroine ! On the contrary, 
the well-adjusted air of mystery enhanced her pleasure, 
ministered to her love of romance, and at Pulverley Gene- 
vieve descended promptly, barely pausing long enough at 
the station to be sure which was the road leading to the 
school-house, this being easily decided by applying to a 
man idling near by, and started off as bravely as her fast- 
increasing nervousness would allow. The school-house 
dominated a pretty wooded slope; and in spite of the 
fact that its doors w T ere closed for the summer vacation, 
Genevieve saw now that one stood open, and a window as 
w r ell, the blinds of which were partly closed. The rain 
had come within the last five minutes — a downpour in- 
creasing in force and volume every moment — and Gene- 
vieve was struggling with her umbrella, when some one 
emerged from the school-house, and a charmed voice 
said : 

“ Oh ! you will be drenched through ! I am so glad to 
see you, though 1” And Bertie’s hand was on her arm, he 
was taking the umbrella from her, and performing the 
first of the innumerable attentions he was about to pledge 
himself to pay the girl who had risked the anger, indigna- 
tion, perhaps forfeited the esteem, of all her relatives to 
fulfil as rash a promise as she could well have made. 

“The minister, or I should say justice of the peace, is 
here,” Bertie explained. “You see, Gen, it’s as well to 
have the ceremony performed by him— -just every bit as 


A DESPERATE MEASURE . 


285 


binding — because there’s a little legal matter he can attend 
to. I’ve a paper for you to look at when — when you and 
I belong to each other, and which I’d like you to sign.” 

And Genevieve, still bewildered and fascinated, but not, 
perhaps, so consciously happy as she had been an hour 
ago, allowed Bertie to lead her into the little school-house, 
where a tall, thin young man, whom he introduced as Mr. 
Rogers, the justice, was walking restlessly about, well- 
pleased to earn twenty dollars in the perfectly legitimate 
exercise of his profession and office, yet not a little anxious 
lest this might be a runaway match with a vindictive 
parent in pursuit. 

But something in Genevieve’s appearance seemed to 
satisfy him better than Bertie had succeeded in doing. 
She looked, as he put it, so “ thoroughly capable of taking 
care of herself” that his fears were appeased, and twenty 
minutes later, the formulas having all been gone through 
with, he was gravely shaking hands with “Mrs. Albert 
Gibbons,” who, now that the aim and wish of her heart 
was attained, felt as though perhaps she had yielded too 
quickly to the voice of Love I But Bertie was mainly 
anxious now to have Mr. Rogers’ assistance in the second 
legal matter, which concerned both his bride and himself. 
While Genevieve stood trembling almost visibly in the 
little school-house window, all the pride of her new estate 
forgotten for the moment in her fears for what might hap- 
pen “ at home,” Bertie drew Mr. Rogers to one side and 
briefly explained what he wanted done — a transfer, a 
power of attorney, etc., from his wife to himself of certain 
property. The consultation was hurried ; there w r ere legal 
points, of course, which could not then and there be de- 
cided upon. Still, as Bertie merely wished to “ show ” the 
document — in other words, to make use of it — no harm 
could come of “Mrs. Gibbons ” signing the paper. 

When Bertie, well aware of how impressive the title 
would be — how it would echo in her ears — said: “My 


286 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


wife had better let me have her signature to that 
paper, 1 think, Mr. Rogers,” poor Genevieve blushed so 
that there was no longer any reason for Bertie to think 
how wretchedly sallow her skin looked by daylight, and 
it was with a flutter — a delighted acquiescence — that she 
put her name — “ Genevieve Gibbons ” — to the bottom of a 
paper she scarcely took time to read, lifting her happy 
eyes with another blush to Bertie’s as she whispered, 
“ Seems queer — not to be Henderson any more !” 

“ Never again !” retorted Bertie, thrusting the paper tri- 
umphantly into his pocket. He had certainly not made 
such a bad bargain, after all, and in time he might even 
grow fond of her — he would do his best. Anyway, there 
would be money enough, when they could make a clean 
breast of it, to give him occupation apart from the joys of 
home-life and newly-wedded bliss. Strange, vexing, dis- 
agreeable beyond all his calculations, however, that through 
the whole “ affair ” another face and voice, another girlish 
figure, would obtrude themselves, rousing him to as much 
of compunction and distress as it was in his nature to 
feel ; and as he put Genevieve on board the train for New 
York half an hour later, after drinking a cup of coffee and 
eating a roll as a wedding-breakfast, the state of Bertie’s 
mind would have been difficult to understand, to describe. 
“I can pay up what is owing before Fen gets on to it,” 
he was reflecting while the train which bore his bride to 
New York was whirled away, Bertie having decided it 
wiser for her to “ show up ” at once at home, to avoid all 
suspicion; “but — Heaven help me! — I wish I could 
stop thinking of Carrie !” 


FENTON AS “GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER, FRIEND.” 


287 


CHAPTER LXVI. 

FENTON AS “ GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER AND 
FRIEND.” 

Constance watched the party start away on Mr. Car- 
rick Crittenden’s yacht Dolores, by no means disliking 
the idea of a day to herself, the prospect of Fenton’s call 
later being an agreeable touch in the picture — good-natured 
Mrs. James counting for nothing, at least as an element of 
disturbance. 

A letter to Clare, announcing Miss Armitage’s success 
as an exhibitor, occupied her first hour of freedom. “ You 
can well imagine we were all excited,” she wrote, “ when, 
at the breakfast- table, a note was handed Miss Armitage 
containing the judges’ decision. Fernhills leads the day 
with the prize for the new fuchsia, ‘The Armitage.’ 
Ralph is the richer by a hundred dollars and the prouder 
by I dare not say how much, and of course congratula- 
tions were universal ; but in the midst of them Miss H. 
said to me, ‘ Oh, I wish Miss Coleman knew of it !’ and so 
I agreed to write at once.^ Dear Clare, I am still intensely 
anxious for news of you all. I wish I could fly away to 
you to-day. All the house-party are off on Mr. Critten- 
den’s yacht — I am alone — not in my glory, exactly, but 
my thoughts of all dear to me, chief of which, after my 
father, must come the Amblesworth home circle . Some- 
thing tells me that my tenure here is not to be permanent. 
Where my next flitting is to be, who can say ? But my 
experiences here have been invaluable in many ways. 
Perhaps what is best of all, the very luxury — indeed even 
splendor — of my surroundings, the unlimited means which 
supplies the home with everything to suit the veriest epi- 
cure, have taught me that these things alone do not make 


288 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


up the sum of human happiness nor fill the measure of 
human need. A better lesson could not have been learned 
by me; for, Conning it, I have day by day seen my own 
ultra hyperfastidious notions and craving for all that was 
merely picturesque in life drift away — at least what was 
purely pagan in it. The needs of and fora Christian soul, 
Clare, seem to have awakened within me in a way impos- 
sible now for me to describe. I seem to feel it crying out 
within me that this is not my resting-place, and something 
tells me the appeal will not be made in vain. Don’t fancy 
me morbid or emotional, or any of those things you and 
I share a contempt for. No ! — it is a calm, logical conclu- 
sion. I wish you could, even invisibly, be here. Larry 
has made another of his sudden conquests. This time it 
is Miss Ivors — the lovely “ Izzy a Washington belle and 
heiress. Just now I presume he is engaged in making 
himself agreeable for a ‘ last day ’ on the Dolores. I have 
dear old Keon for company, and later I am to go over my- 
self, if they remember to fetch me. Larry seems full of 
ideas for his Western life, and I am sure he starts out well 
equipped, so far as good wishes and honest hopes are con- 
cerned. Write soon. I wish I had anything to do which 
would pay my way and bring me nearer to you. Still, 
don’t fancy me ungrateful. God forbid. I do wrong to 
be impatient, and perhaps deserve a scolding — ” 

“ Mr. Fenton, if you please, Miss Reade,” said Peters’ 
voice at the door. “ He is in the library.” 

Fenton was in the window, an open book in his hand, 
when Constance, with Keon following closely, came into 
the room. She had just time to say, “ Why, are you not 
early?” when Fenton, flinging the book on the table, ex- 
claimed angrily : 

“ Who is reading ‘ Balzac ?’ ” 

Constance laughed. 

“ What a tone of voice ! I am condemned before I con- 
fess my sins !” 


FENTON AS “G VIDE , PHILOSOPHER , FRIEND” 289 


“Ob, then it is you!” He picked up the offensive 
volume and walked over to the place near which Con- 
stance very demurely seated herself, prepared for a scold- 
ing. V 

“And how does ‘Balzac/ may I inquire, affect that 
restlessness of spirit you complain of?” he pursued. “Do 
you find stimulus for high action in his — dissector’s work — 
the trumpery emotions he excites ?” 

“ I am not studying ‘ Balzac’ as a spiritual guide !” she 
exclaimed.* “ One need not be a mere imitator ! His 
phraseology enchants me — I don’t care a farthing for his 
plots ! I read his sentences as I would listen to music. 
As for his characters, and his pitiless way of taking them 
up nerve by nerve and shred by shred, I enjoy that scien- 
tifically — I know of far higher types in less brilliant fic- 
tion ; but it is his graphic power, his very combination of 
words, which holds me — rivets me.” 

“ But you see I detest anything which gives — well, a 
girl like you a false view of life ; and this is a writer who 
unquestionably will lead you astray, since there is the cold 
glare of a merely worldly cynic’s daylight flung over 
what w T e had best see, or find only in shadow.” 

“ But you might as well condemn all people to be 
Trappists lest by speech they obtain false views of life! 
Need I accept all of a writer’s estimate of humanity 
simply because I admire his style, his diction, his sub- 
tlety of analysis ?” 

“No! — but listen to me!” exclaimed Fenton, roused to 
more earnestness than he liked to show. “You should 
select a novel as you would your friends. You receive 
those who are in trouble, in temptation, in sorrow, in joy 
or serene immunity from all evil, but you do not dissect 
and lay bare what they even would never put in speech — 
perhaps not even in thought. You enjoy, you exchange 
ideas, you sympathize, you console, but you do not allow 
yourself to be smeared by anything evil in their lives. 

19 


290 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


But there are books — novels — read by hundreds of women 
daily, which do this— hold up to view the inner workings 
of minds and natures the very aspect of which is hurtful. 
They are purposeless creatures, for the most part, aiming 
at nothing but the gratification of self. Their moral is 
obvious; the result, Dead Sea fruit.” 

Constance was silent. 

“ I had not thought of it in that way.” She raised her 
eyes with a little gleam in their depths. “ What novels 
may I read ? — for oh ! I dearly love a story; and I like, 
too, that analysis some novelists excel in — ” 

“ With a reserve ! You are a good child and I shall not 
scold you — very often ! Can’t you enjoy Miss Austen — ” 
“ Oh ! — well, yes. But she is cold, rather — ” 

“ Oh no ! And as for fine English and character-draw- 
ing, come — begin 4 Emma/ or ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ if you 
have not read them ; and Miss Edgeworth, old-fashioned 
as you may call her, is delightful.” 

“ But there are scores of others.” 

“ Of course the list of good novelists is so long that one 
need have no time for the inferior ones. That is precisely 
what I tried once to point out to Helen. She had an ex- 
citing railway edition of a story about a heroine in pale- 
blue silk, white lace and a ‘ mass of rosebuds,’ at her own 
breakfast-table, which was the keynote of our discourse. 
I could fill her book-shelves with delightful fiction, though 
I confess I read but little myself. What shall I do with 
your friend 4 Balzac V ” 

He smiled and held out the volume. 

“ Return it to the book-shelf. But remember — I prom- 
ise nothing.” 

A summons came to Miss Constance from Mrs. James, 
while Fenton, amused by her reservation, obeyed Miss 
Reade ; and, left alone for the next few moments, he asked 
himself how long this girl's chief charm, in his eyes, at 
least — the simplicity of hen soul — would be left undis* 


FENTON AS “GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER, FRIEND .” 291 


turbed ? It was hardly in the nature of things that it 
should last, but its bloom need not fade. 

“There is an innate purity about her,” he reflected, 
“ which will bear contact with the world far better than 
any acquired art. Well, I wonder if I am venturing too 
far upon forbidden ground ?” 

And with a sudden recollection of his oft-repeated ad- 
vice to Bertie Gibbons, which he might apply to himself, 
never to voluntarily seek temptation, thoughts of his step- 
brother came to mind, bringing the same misery of doubt 
he was always in where that fascinating and carelessly- 
happy youth was concerned; for, look at it whichever 
way he could, shrink from admitting a fact so abhorrent 
to all that he held sacred, honorable, lawful and just in 
life, Fenton knew that young Gibbons was innately — in- 
herently — lacking in moral perceptiveness. 

For two days past the young gentleman had been un- 
usually gay in his demeanor, completely fascinating and 
subjugating Mrs. Huxley (who, however, considered Mr. 
Fenton not to be “ spoke of in the same breath ”), and so 
ready to listen to all that Fenton had to say to him con- 
cerning a new “ start ” in life that the master of Gar very 
felt certain something lay back of all this easy acquies- 
cence ; and Duke’s suggestion hovered like a bird of ill- 
omen over all such reflections. That Bertie had been led 
into a silly flirtation with Duke’s niece he had no doubt 
was true enough, but he knew Bertie’s kind of fastidious- 
ness too well to be afraid he had allowed such an affair 
to go too far ; still there was more than annoyance in the 
fact that Bertie could have so far lowered himself as to 
oblige a man like Jerry Duke — or any guardian — to send 
his charge away “out of his reach!” Where and who 
was the girl ? Fenton suddenly remembered that Duke 
had connections West, and reference to a “ capitalist named 
Reade ” rung discordantly in his ears. Well, he obvi- 
ously could not go over to “ Duke’s ” simply to discuss this 


292 


A GIBES ORDEAL . 


subject further, but he must watch Bertie ! Uncongenial 
though the task might be, there was no way but that for 
discovering whether any means of troubling Constance lay 
in the power either of Jerry Duke or his step-brother ; 
but he must not let his vigilance include too much 
thought of what he had no right whatever — of this he was 
very sure— to try and draw into his own life! Constance 
herself w r ould never need to guess that for a brief hour or 
two the grave, composed Fenton — the assured man of the 
world, whose projects in life were so free from sentimen- 
tality — had allowed himself the luxury of what was — 
must be — a shapeless dream ! He would apply himself to 
a very careful study of young Gibbons, however, before 
many hours were over; meanwhile — The door opened, 
and with the sound Fenton roused himself, to see Con- 
stance equipped for their sail across to the Dolores, where 
the Fernhills party were no doubt enjoying themselves as 
such vagrant holiday-makers, with all the world to choose 
from, were entitled to be doing. 

Crittenden, if a trifle shy of his fellow-beings in society, 
was a perfect host on board his beloved yacht, where he 
combined business and pleasure charmingly with the sort 
of hospitality nowhere more captivating than when well 
exercised on the deck or in the luxurious cabin of a boat 
built expressly for pleasure and the satisfaction of a 
yachtman’s fancy. All that the running water and a 
cloudless sky — the idle drifting motion, the faint, soft 
sounds of nature — could suggest would be there, to 
awaken in Constance that mood she shrank from encour- 
aging, or indeed permitting. Once in the little row-boat, 
seated opposite to Fenton, while one of the crew from the 
Dolores pulled a steady oar, the girl felt indeed as though 
the chains of her armor were slackening; but how to 
resist this soothing, delightful hour of exquisite union 
with nature and companionship? Life need not grow 
idle because of such unlooked-for moments. And there 


DOUBTS AND PERPLEXITIES. 


293 


was aridity enough enforced in many of her associations 
to make the girl reluctant to lose this passing breath of 
wind from places sweet with the scents of a more bloom- 
ing life — a verdure that offered umbrageous shadow, or 
sunlight upon cool, green hollows — repose that was not 
merely idleness, content that was not only vain in- 
dulgence. 


CHAPTER LXVII. 

DOUBTS AND PERPLEXITIES. 

A messenger-boy awaited the Dolores as it sailed into 
port about nine o’clock the same evening. Mr. Palisley 
was the first to recognize him as one of what he called 
the “Arbiters of Fate.” 

“Whoever he is looking for,” remarked Fenton’s friend, 
who was by this time on terms of agreeable intimacy with 
every one, “ he is following the usual path of progress 
chosen by his kind — seated. He simply impersonates 
cheerful Delay.” 

Constance had regretted having no word to bring Miss 
Armitage from her expected visitors, but now she and 
Helen exchanged a significant look. The tranquil boy 
no doubt carried with him a telegram to say the Jervises 
were actually on their way to Fernhills. The evening 
had been superb; a perfect sunset had scarcely died 
away before a young moon had risen, and now the sky 
was throbbing with starlight that seemed to crown the 
triumph of the day with the glow of unconquered worlds, 
and Constance had wished they might drift on and on 
for time which might be limitless, provided her mood did 
not vary and that now and again she could reach Fen- 
ton’s glance, comprehensive and sympathetic, even when 
he could not draw near enough to speak. There was 


294 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


complete, ineffable luxury in the idle motion, the drift- 
ing hour, the glamour of earth and moon and stars. 
Even Larry’s voice, buoyantly self-assertive, at one side 
of the deck, the bird-like tones of the fair Miss Ivors 
blending with them, the Colonel’s finished periods, and 
Mrs. Bruce Greer’s perfect modulations, were not too sug- 
gestive of a life mundane in its conditions, earthly in its 
needs and desires. But a telegraph-boy is civilization 
embodied. 

“ Ten to one it’s for me,” said Palisley ; but Miss Armi- 
tage and Constance knew better. When they were all 
ashore, the friendly courtesies, adieux and thanks ex- 
changed, her impatience showed itself, and Fenton met 
the boy half-way. 

“For you!” he called out across the beach to Helen, 
and she took the yellow envelope almost with a shiver 
of disgust. Lord Greybury had left the yacht at three 
o’clock, but with the clearest understanding when and 
where they should meet again ; and Palisley, who was 
joyously attracted to the young nobleman, had told it to 
Fenton in Mis3 Armitage’s hearing; so her “plan” was 
working well. Only let her be rid of the Jervises! But 
here was an unexpected loophole for escape. She smiled 
as she read the dispatch and handed it to Constance, 
looking at Fenton. 

“ There — what it is to have to see one’s lawyer ! I must 
go to Albany to-morrow.” 

All her guests had made their plans for an early morn- 
ing departure, therefore she could announce her own. 
Talk of trains and routes followed. They were in the 
drawing-room, awaiting the cold supper ordered before 
Miss Armitage had an opportunity to say, aside, to Con- 
stance : 

u My dear, I can take the two o’clock train ; and if the 
Jervises should arrive later, of course you can explain my 
absence and send me a dispatch. There is no message 


DOUBTS AND PERPLEXITIES , 


295 


from them, but they would hardly descend upon me 
wholly unawares.” 

Constance thought not — at least hoped not — almost as 
ardently as did her friend, and was inclined to be vexed 
when, later, Fenton said it would be as well if they did 
appear. Helen need not feel ashamed of her own kin- 
dred — it was unbecoming, etc., etc. 

“ By the way,” he said, suddenly, “ I wonder who your 
sister — or your step-mother’s daughter — knows in Pulvcr- 
ley ? A man told me he saw her there yesterday, hurry- 
ing along from the station.” 

“ I never heard her mention the place,” said Constance. 
“ But Genevieve, you know, has many friends I am not 
likely even to hear about.” 

Nothing — Fenton recalled it later — could have been more 
guileless than her tone, her look, as she spoke ; and her 
very way of thoughtfully repeating the name “ Pulverley ” 
was innocence itself. The subject changed back again to 
Miss Armitage and her projected trip to Albany. Con- 
stance wondered if Fenton had been given any hint of 
what she had talked of doing — the transfer of Fernhills 
to his name — to himself? But she fancied nothing of this 
would be mentioned until after the Albany visit. Still, 
Constance was sure it was not absent from Helen’s mind ; 
nor was she surprised when, directly they were alone — she 
having gone, as was now usual, to Miss Armitage’s sitting- 
room for a last chat before retiring — Helen exclaimed : 

“My dear, to-morrow is so important! Fen, of course, 
does not — cannot — guess ! How lightly he can talk ! Do 
you think I seem at all conscious in his company ? I mean, 
do I look as though I was attending particularly to him in 
preference to others?” She paused for no answer, but flung 
herself into an easy-chair and continued : “ I try never to 
let it seem so ! But to-night I could not help thinking of 
what I mean to do to-morrow, if I may. Think of it ! To 
voluntarily resign my home !” 


296 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ But will he not — will not every one — regard it as a most 
astonishing caprice?” 

Helen leaned back in her chair, drawing the strands of 
her lovely hair, which had been unbound, loosely through 
her fingers. 

“No one need know of it, except yourself, just at pres- 
ent. Then, if” — she smiled and turned her eyes with 
that exquisitely tender light in them to Constance — u if 
other plans are arranged, all will seem natural and fair.” 
As Constance said nothing, she went on : “ How did you 
like Greybury ? I saw you chatting away with him as 
easily as though it was — young Coleman.” 

“ Why not ? He was very nice. He told me a lot 
about his sisters ; and he spoke of a cousin, he seems 
very fond of, who is the best player on the £ links,’ he 
says, at Greybarton — that, by the way, is one of his 
places. He has, it appears, a very pretty sister, Lady 
Ursula, and another nothing like as good-looking, but no 
end of fun — I am giving you his words, you know ; and 
she — the plain, jolly one — is going to be married before 
Christmas to his particular friend, and he has to be back 
for the wedding, although it’s a grind, because he’d like 
immensely to see something of society in New York, it’s 
so jolly, they all tell him, don’t you know.” 

Helen gazed at her companion, who had repeated all 
these utterances of Greybury ’s in a perfectly cool and 
sedate way, for a moment in silence. Then she began to 
laugh. 

“ You’re the oddest girl I ever came across,” she said, at 
length. “ Nothing ever seems to baffle or to escape you.” 

“Why? Because I like to hear all Lord Greybury’s 
home gossip ? Honestly, he told it in such a nice way 
it did interest me. I was all so like what one might ex- 
pect — the pretty sister, and the daring golf-player, and 
the Christmastide wedding. He spoke of his mother, 
too.” 


DOUBTS AND PERPLEXITIES. 


297 


“ Indeed ?” Helen was more keenly interested now. 

“Yes; he said she was the best woman on earth, but 
awfully anxious about him.” 

“ Anxious ? Does he strike you as being— dissipated, at 
all, or anything ?” 

“ Oh, no. Lady Greybury, it seems, is a bit cut up be- 
cause he is still unmarried. ‘With all your chances/ I 
remarked, very sympathetically. He quite saw what I 
meant and said just so — well, that was to say, as he knew 
such an awful lot of nice girls, and all that sort of thing, 
don’t you know ; but, anyway, her ladyship could 
rest easy in her mind on one score — whoever he did 
get to have him in the end would be a daughter who 
would do her credit and care for her.” 

“ Why didn’t you say, at this point, how much you 
would like to know her?” 

“What! /—the companion /” Constance shook her 
head. “ Oh no, my dear. I was well aware he considered 
me an entirely safe confidante. You have no idea how 
much I have learned lately ! Another six months, and 
I assure you I ought to have a written diploma — some- 
thing like a graduate’s — better, you know, than a mere 
reference — to show at my next place.” 

“Your next place?” Helen looked up anxiously. “ Are 
you thinking of such a thing?” 

“Not without giving you what I would expect my- 
self: a month’s — or is it a week’s ? — warning. No! Yet 
who can look very far ahead? Good-night, now. Re- 
member all you have to think about to-morrow; and we 
must have a confab as to how I shall spend my time — at 
least that part of it which belongs to you, Miss Armitage — 
during your absence.” 

“ I can tell you now. All I ask of you is to see some 
poor people I’ve heard of — I’m ashamed to say how long 
ago— and to do your best in regard to those terrible Jer- 
vises.” 


298 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


CHAPTER LXVIIL 
moseley’s. 

By noon Fernhills was deserted. Even Larry and Miss 
Ivors had been compelled to part; and as he assured 
Constance there was “ more in that girl than people gave 
her credit for,” she felt safe to suggest he was better off 
leaving her at once before another “ heart seizure.” 

“All very well,” said the good-natured Larry; “but I 
can tell you — well, never mind. Now, my dear Con- 
stance, remember this is good-bye for a while — a long 
while, perhaps — and you will be sure to write.” 

The promise was exchanged. Constance, jest as she 
might, felt securer of Larry’s regard and friendship than 
she had ever been before. Fenton really liked him. They 
drove away together, both looking back to smile a fare- 
well to the “ companion/ ’ who had too many small things 
to attend to for Miss Armitage to spend much time in 
retrospect or meditation. The Washingtonians went 
next — Mrs. Bruce Greer on the same train which conveyed 
Helen to Albany ; and during the journey the Newport 
trip would doubtless be fully planned and decided upon. 

It was a mild, cool day, and the afternoon bid fair to be 
one of uninterrupted quiet — a prospect, I need scarcely 
sajq Constance thoroughly enjoyed. Even Mrs. James 
had departed, having taken advantage of Helen’s Albany 
trip to accompany her and have her “ teeth looked at,” 
she explained to Constance, and the house-maids were 
busy clearing out the rooms so recently occupied. 

With Keon for company, Constance started down to 
inquire if there had arrived at Mrs. Cooley’s any news of 
Miss Brumage, and also to find out the addresses of a few 
families she had learned were in distress, and whom she 
intended to visit before Miss Armitage’s return. 


MOSELEY'S. 


299 


Miss Brumage herself was at the open door, but before 
Constance had time to ask what had brought her back so 
unexpectedly, the young girl, flushed and excited, plunged 
into a recital. 

“ Oh, Miss Reade !” she exclaimed, “ I know Miss Armi- 
tage is terribly vexed. Oh, you needn’t say she isn’t ! I’m 
dismissed ! But what could I do? Dave was starting, and 
Neal Ferguson, you know, and how could I say when I was 
to see them again 1 And, Miss Reade, I thought perhaps 
you would speak a kind word for me. She’s sent my full 
quarter’s pay — I’m grateful for that; and of course the 
school will be closed any way for vacation, and by the fall 
she may change her mind, you know.” 

Constance was quite of this opinion, and assuring the 
little school-teacher she would do her best, suggested her 
introducing her, before she left, to some of the poor fami- 
lies in the neighborhood — well aware that it was highly 
advisable to act on Miss Armitage’s word directly it was 
given, lest delay might make her indifferent on the sub- 
ject. Miss Brumage’s modest packing was all complete, 
and she very cheerfully agreed to act as guide for Con- 
stance, the expedition affording her more time to give 
details of her home affairs, which Constance easily under- 
stood would not be the easier to arrange with Kate out of 
work and the boys away. 

“My sister — the sick one, you know, Miss Reade,” said 
the little teacher, “is so much in need of many a little thing, 
my money helped along. Maybe, if I didn’t get back my 
place here, you might hear of something else.” Her eyes 
filled with tears. Constance could only repeat her assur- 
ance that she would do her very best; and as, by this 
time, the first place on their list was reached, she gave all 
her attention to the subject in hand. 

Turning up a narrow lane near the water’s edge, they 
confronted a dilapidated-looking building, such as it did 
not seem possible could exist close to the luxurious dwell- 


300 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


ings of Gelston proper, or even Gelston Corners. Origin- 
ally it had been a good enough three-story frame house; 
now it was falling rapidly into decay, encouraged by 
neglect, rotten timber and tenements crowded with dirty, 
ragged people. Constance and her guide went from room 
to room, no one better than its neighbors, and all bearing 
the same wretched stamp of poverty and neglect, while 
many showed signs of vice and wilful idleness. She 
wished with all her heart the petted heiress of Fernhills 
could be persuaded to come here and see for herself — to 
contrast the perfumed luxury of her own life, its lotus- 
eating delights, its immunity from all want or suffering, 
with the stifling quarters, wearing toil, hunger, sin and 
pain which even this one building in what was known as 
“Shin-bone Alley” presented. But Helen, she well 
knew, would not care to leave her own gates on such an 
errand— unless, indeed, Fenton suggested it. Now all 
that could be done by Constance beyond the kind words 
and encouragement of her presence and a trifle here and 
there from her own purse, was to take down names and 
particulars, and assure the women who gave them that 
“ she would call again,” for she dared not mention Helen’s 
name prematurely. In the very attic of the house called 
“Moseley’s,” from the name of its landlord, one case 
seemed so urgent that Constance ventured to tell the 
woman who occupied, with her sick husband and three 
children, two small but comparatively clean rooms, to 
call or send to Mrs. Cooley’s that evening. The poor 
creature was not only in need of nearly everything, but 
the baby lying on her knees was in an almost dying state ; 
its tiny face waxen white, the eyelids drooping above 
feeble shadows, the little arms and hands worn to mere 
skin and bone. In answer to a query as to whether a 
doctor had seen the child, the mother said “Oh, yes,” but 
there was no money to get the nourishment required. 
He had spoken of relief ; she hoped it would not arrive 


MOSELEY'S. 


301 


too late. An exclamation from the sufferer on the bed 
drew Constance’s attention there, and she beheld a pair 
of intensely black eyes, in a face startling in its pallor, 
gazing at her, while their owner, the head of the suffering 
family, tried to raise himself on his elbow. 

u See here, Miss,” he began in a hollow voice, “ I don’t 
doubt you mean well and kind, but I’m a man not to let 
any one be imposed upon. Never you mind, Jemima,” 
he continued, as his wife raised one hand to stop his speak- 
ing ; “ I’m going to tell this young lady the truth , so she’ll 
not be putting blame where it don’t belong. You see me, 
Miss, lyin’ here now, pretty bad, I must say — with my 
lungs, this time, from one cold arter another, through 
standing at my business all kinds of weathers, in wet up to 
my knees — a common thing — clammin’s my trade, Miss, 
and it’s no easy job, let me tell you — especially with a 
family to keep on it. And see here, Miss : if you was this 
minute to ask anybody that knows Jake Mason — that’s 
me, Miss — ‘ What’s the trouble?’ they’d tell you, drink — 
rum ; and so it is, Miss, I’m goin’ to say right out, lately. 
And why? Jem ’ll tell you I was no drinkin’ man a 
year or two ago. But see here, Miss : nowadays work’s 
slack, but mouths and stomachs don’t grow smaller ; and 
you see a man anywhere gets his pint of porter, or mixed 
ale, or whatever, for ten cents , and it fills up, so to speak, 
a whole family. Why, Miss, those kids there’ll take their 
sip all around in fine style and fell quite chirked up by it. 
Well, Miss, so it goes. I’m not the good man I used to 
be, and now, maybe, this cough’s come to pay me up for 
it ; but, gosh ! I’ve laid here now, Miss, for three weeks — 
sober enough this time, if I do say it of myself — and just 
had to watch ’em starve 

He turned over sharply and put his arm across his eyes. 

“Jake ! Now Jake, I say !” said his wife, half in sym- 
pathy, half in sorrow. “ Now, Miss, don’t think he’s as 
bad as he says ! I tell you, Miss, of course I ain’t goin’ 


302 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


to up and say Jake hasn’t had his bad sprees and times 
of drinking Miss, for he has ; but he’s never been a very 
bad husband at home, Miss, and his work has been that 
terrible, in wet weather, it’s left him just where you find 
him now ! And you see I can’t go out to work and leave 
the children, Miss.” 

“ But suppose,” said Constance, gently, “ he could go 
away for a time to a nice hospital — a really nice one — and 
get a chance to get well, and you could keep the place 
here — ” 

“ Hospital !” echoed the man. “ Now, Miss, what do 
you know of hospitals?” 

“ I know they are the best place for the sick,” said Con- 
stance, smiling ; “ and, Mr. Mason, if you will let me see 
to your going to one for a time, I will promise you your 
family here shall be looked after while you are away — 
and they can see you, remember, constantly.” 

A little more discussion ensued. Constance, fearful of 
leaving money here, sent one of the children to a neigh- 
boring grocers for a few articles, and promised a basket 
from the Fernhills kitchen. The husband and wife held 
a whispered consultation, and when Miss Armitage’s 
emissary departed it was with a half-hearted agreement 
from Jake Mason that if she could procure his admission 
into a hospital not far up the river, he w T ould consent to 
be removed there. 

“Shouldn’t you think they’d jump at the chance?” 
Miss Brumage said as they left Moseley’s; but Constance 
smiled and shook her head. 

“ This work is rather new to me — except for what I 
used to do in Belchatel years ago ; but I know how the 
poor dread the very name of a hospital. I can’t yet quite 
reconcile Shine-bone Alley and Gelston.” 

“ It is the only neighborhood, I believe, of the kind for 
miles around, and it is all owing to the fact that the 
property is in Moseley’s hands. He refuses, for some 


MOSELEY'S. 


303 


reason, to sell or to repair, and he fills his tenements- 
because he merel}~ asks a nominal rent. But there is no 
doubt the place will sooner or later be taken hold of by 
someone. It ought to be made a parish matter.” 

They had walked on a short distance in thoughtful 
silence when Miss Brumage exclaimed, with a quick sigh : 

“Well, who knows when and where and how we shall 
meet, Miss Reade ! I must leave on the four o’clock train, 
so I will say good-bye when we get to Mrs. Cooley’s.” 

“And I shall forget nothing declared Constance. “ Any- 
way , you can expect to hear from me. And I am so much 
obliged to you for taking me about.” 

“ Oh, I am delighted 1” declared Miss Brumage. “ You 
see, it’s worried me ever so long to know about these peo- 
ple, but I never dared mention it to Miss Armitage!” 

Constance was silent. Presently she said, in a low tone : 

“But — does not Mr. Fenton know about anything of 
this kind !” 

“Mr. Fenton! Oh, I’m sure I don’t know. Everyone 
admires him so much, but I fancy he’s rather severe, you 
know; and people like those Masons, for instance, might 
be afraid to go to him. They say he’s dreadfully down 
on drink.” 

“ This is a case of starvation ,” said Constance, shortly. 
“ I don’t think he need be very hard upon that.” 

She was vexed at her own tone directly she had spoken, 
and would have found it hard to understand the real secret 
of any irritation. However, there could be no doubt Fen- 
ton could best suggest what could be done in a case like 
that of the Masons, or indeed the whole of Moseley’s ; and 
repeating the name brought back to Constance’s mind one 
of the various business letters she had written for Miss 
Armitage in which this name occurred. Might it not be 
that the miserable tumble-down building was actually 
part of her property ? Were that the case, the matter would 
be a much simpler one. 


304 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


“ I shall, anyway, write her a vivid account of its hor- 
rors/’ decided Constance, as, after an affectionate farewell 
to Miss Brumage, who agreed to write directly she arrived 
at home, she turned up the side-path, the short-cut to the 
entrance near the conservatory, and which they generally 
used when coming and going on daily walks. But she 
had scarcely come in view of the house before she ob- 
served that something unusual was going on. The depot 
carriage was at the door — Mr. Blake and Peters were both 
engaged in receiving two ladies who, standing upon the 
top of the stone steps of the mansion, were gazing help- 
lessly at one another, at the very distinguished-looking 
Blake, and finally, as she drew near, at Constance herself. 


CHAPTER LXIX. 

THE JERVISES. 

Constance understood the situation at once. Undoubt- 
edly these were the much-dreaded relations, the Jervises, 
and Mr. Blake, with an air of intense relief, had barely 
time to mention their name before she held out her hand 
to the large elderly lady who seemed to be conducting the 
party, saying, with a bright smile : 

“Miss Armitage was called away, Mrs. Jervis, on very 
important business, but she will soon be home, and mean- 
while she has left me to entertain you. I am her com- 
panion, Constance Reade. Pray, come in and pausing 
long enough to desire Blake to send Nora to her, Con- 
stance led the way into the hall, the guests following — 
something being said about their having written, but 
nothing really intelligible, until they were in the library 
and Nora was relieving them of their hats, wraps and 
hand-bags. 


TIIE JERVISES. 


305 


“We wrote our train,” said Mrs. Jervis; and the daugh- 
ter added, in a very definite voice : 

“We distinctly said 3.45. It was so on the time table.” 

“Then you see,” said Constance, taking up a pile of 
letters from the table, “it must be among these — they 
came while I was out, and after Miss Armitage left.” 

Miss Jervis promptly discovered hers. “There!” — she 
broke the seal, glanced at the letter, and handed it to 
Constance — “ you see I was right,” she added. 

“Oh, no doubt. Now, will you have a little refresh- 
ment here? then I will show 7 you your rooms, and you 
can rest, or do anything you like. I fancy Miss Armitage 
will be detained until to-morrow.” 

The tea and cake was partaken of almost in silence, 
after which Constance, who had contrived to speak apart 
to Nora and decide about the rooms, and also direct that 
the luggage be taken there, led the way herself to rooms 
she felt sUre Miss Armitage would approve of offering 
these relatives of her mother’s on what was their first visit 
of importance to Fernhills— her home. They adjoined, 
belonged to the older portion of the house, yet were fitted 
up luxuriously, and had only yesterday been occupied by 
Mrs. Bruce Greer and Miss Ivors, and it was clearly to be 
seen that however reticent or constrained the visitors might 
feel, they were well pleased by the attention shown them 
and decidedly impressed by the grandeur of their quarters. 

Left alone ten minutes later, mother and daughter ex- 
changed glances of intense satisfaction and importance. 

“I just wish your Pa had come!” said Mrs. Jervis, a 
faint color flickering across her cheeks. 

“ Oh, he wouldn’t, so what was the use?” said Rowena. 
“ But I tell you what — there’s people out home would 
wonder to see us here this minute ! I declare I think — 
who do you suppose that girl is? She looks dreadfully 
stylish ! She said she was her companion — and see how 
she ordered those servants !” 

20 


806 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Miss Jervis had drifted to the toilet-table now, where 
she was deliberately inspecting herself in the long, draped 
mirror, and her mother said, carelessly : 

“Oh, I dunno as she exactly ordered them! I guess 
they know their business — Rowena, are you goin’ to 
change your dress ?” 

“I dunno — I wonder if they do for tea? — well, here’s 
the trunks.” 

And all discussion ceased until they were alone again, 
when Rowena exclaimed : 

“ You see, it’ll be dinner . That girl said that dinner 
would be ready at half-past six. Oh, well, Ma, we’d best 
put on something else. I wonder when Helen Armitage 
will be back ? Anyway , I mean to have a good time. I 
ain’t afraid to enjoy myself. I guess not. You’ve got 
your hair out of crimp, but I’ll fuss it up again.” 

Rowena Jervis felt decidedly more at her ease when, 
two hours later, after a nice rest, she and her mother sur- 
veyed themselves and each other before undergoing what 
was really an ordeal to them both — the late dinner in such 
a magnificent abode as Fernhills seemed to them to be. 
There had been a great deal of discussion before leaving 
home over just what garments would be suitable on a 
visit the importance of which was magnified in proportion 
to their own complete ignorance as to just what they 
would find on reaching Gelston. They knew, of course, 
that their kinswoman was heiress to considerable wealth, 
but just what were her surroundings they were not aware, 
since the communication between the families had for 
years amounted, to very little; there were no mutual 
friends to carry reports or give descriptions ; and a coun- 
try residence, in a general way, suggested simplicity. But 
they had another visit to pay — to relatives in New York ; 
and more on this account than on that of Fernhills and 
Helen Armitage they had ordered from the best store in 
Bentley two new gowns each, one of which they now de- 


BOWEN A. 


307 


cided, in view of all that they saw, and which was wholly 
unexpected, to don for this occasion, were it only because 
of Mr. Blake, to say nothing of that tall, slim, pretty 
young girl who called herself the companion. Accord- 
ingly, when the softly-pealing gong below announced din- 
ner and Constance herself appeared to escort Miss Armi- 
tage’s guests to the dining-room, they received her in all 
the stiffness of new black silks rather over-trimmed with 
jet and lace, Mrs. Jervis having a cap of the latest Bent- 
ley make above her reinstated crimps, Rowena a pair of 
sparkling side-combs in her hair, which was waved in ac- 
cordance with the latest style, a curl in the centre depriv- 
ing her face of its best lines, those about the low but well- 
formed brow. She was a thin, dark-complexioned, 
brown-eyed girl with a fair claim to being called pretty, 
and but for the sharpness of her voice would have made 
an agreeable impression ; but in her case the Western ac- 
cent was painfully pronounced ; and what was at home, 
no doubt, or when she was unembarrased, a frank, bright 
manner, was now rather pert and aggressive from her in- 
tense anxiety to seem and appear perfectly at her ease in 
these unaccustomed surroundings. 

Constance led the way, the Jervises rustling after her, 
Rowena making up her mind with every step to improve 
her opportunities during the absence of its mistress to see 
Fernhills from “ top to bottom ” for herself. If this Miss 
Reade was the “ companion,” weren’t they relations ? 


CHAPTER LXX. 

ROWENA. 

Only the fact that the guests were relatives of his mis- 
tress saved Mr. Blake’s manner from being openly com- 


308 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


passionate as he waited upon them at dinner, so clearly 
evident was it that they were wholly unaccustomed to 
dining with the formalities usual at Fernhills ; but even as 
it was, there was something distinctly patronizing, or I 
had better say instructive , in his way of offering various 
dishes; and delighted though Rowena Jervis might be 
with all she saw about her, she could not but feel relieved 
when the meal was ended and Constance proposed taking 
their coffee on the lawn. The inborn American, however, 
is seldom dismayed by the unusual in any form, social or 
otherwise, and Rowena bore herself outwardly with smil- 
ing calm, as indeed she would have done in the presence 
of royalty itself. She was not, as she often said, narrow- 
minded, nor did she share the faith of some of her neigh- 
bors, who considered Bentley the shining example, the 
epitome of all that was progressive. The world beyond 
Bentley had long been to her fascinating in the extreme, 
and this visit concentrated her ambition — represented its 
very highest aim ; nothing should escape her. That over- 
attentive man, named Blake, would not very long, de- 
cided Miss Jervis, put on those airs with her ! No one 
should ever know or guess that she listened with a spasm 
of misery when Constance suggested coffee on the lawn, 
dreading lest it involved some “ newfangled ” way of 
drinking it; but Constance’s easy manner was reassur- 
ing. Miss Jervis, as they took their seats under Helen’s 
favorite cedar, concluded that the companion had ac- 
quired all this in fulfilling her duties to the young lady 
of Fernhills. 

“ Have you any plans for to-morrow?” Constance asked 
Mrs. Jervis. “ Let me know, if you please, how or where 
I can be of any service. You must consider me entirely 
at your disposal.” 

“Fm sure you’re very kind,” said Mrs. Jervis, quickly, 
u and I don’t mind telling you I do feel mixed when I 
think of going in town alone much ; but to-morrow we 


BOWEN A. 


309 


must be there. We have to meet a friend — a cousin of 
Mr. Jervis’s, that is. She’ll be at the depot, though — she 
wrote that.” 

“ Oh, I saw to that,” said Rowena, smiling. “ We know 
that much, anyway — not to get mixed up in any appoint- 
ments. Fanny Bell will be at the Grand Central Depot 
to the minute of twelve; so perhaps, Miss Reade, you can 
tell us the train we ought to take.” 

“ Certainly — the 10.50 will be the best. You will have 
plenty of time — and what hour shall you be back ?” 

A little discussion ensued, in which Rowena took part, 
more or less aggressively, as seemed to be her nature, but 
a final decision was reached, after the visitors understood 
Constance’s main object was to insure their being met at 
the train, and it was agreed that the Fernhills carriage 
should be sent for the 5.40 express. 

“ And don’t you wait tea one minute,” said Mrs. Jervis, 
“ or dinner — I suppose you always have it late?” 

“ We have only ourselves to please,” said Constance, 
“ and Miss Armitage will be delighted if you do precisely 
as you like.” 

Mrs. Jervis smiled and put one of her large, bony hands 
on the companion’s arm. 

u I ain’t seen Helen in eight years,” she said, quietly, 
“ but I only hope she’ll do as much for her country 
cousins as you're ready to, my dear.” 

“ What does she do all day, anyway ?” exclaimed 
Rowena, who was moving about near by, and turning to 
survey the beautiful, tranquil house, with the last rays of 
the evening light touching its many windows, turrets and 
balconies, giving to its usual air of luxurious ease the 
softening charm of twilight, evening calm, and with its 
abundance of green in trees and shrubbery a solemn sort 
of picturesqueness. 

“ I should think,” the girl went on with an air half- 
impatient, half-serious, “ she’d get nearly lost in this im- 


310 


A GIBUS ORDEAL . 


mense place — but I suppose she has to keep pretty busy 
attending to things.” 

Constance blushed in the half-lights — a blush for or 
because of Helen’s very decorative sort of idleness as 
opposed to the picture of Martha-like activity suggested. 

“ You see she has only to give orders in tho house — the 
servants are very well trained,” Constance explained. 
“ Then, now since she has put off her mourning, she must 
entertain a great deal.” 

“ And — is that all ?” demanded Miss Jervis. But before 
Constance could reply, she gave a short laugh and moved 
a few paces away. 

“ I wonder how long / would be getting used to it!” 
she exclaimed. “ My ! but I’d like to try it !” She turned 
a pair of bright smiling eyes upon Constance, who was by 
this time greatly interested in the Western girl’s point of 
view, and wondering how Helen’s rich, statuesque beauty 
and grace of manner would impress her. “You won’t 
mind my asking you, but if she is supposed to be realizing 
all that the Lord asks in entertaining company, what on 
earth do you do ?” 

“/?” exclaimed Constance. Once more the uselessness 
of her own labors smote her. “ Really, Miss Jervis, I can 
hardly tell you, for my work consists in doing a number 
of such small things — writing letters, seeing people ” — she 
paused ; she could not say “ advising or governing ” Helen, 
nor could she even say trying to influence her! Never 
had the insufficiency of her daily work appealed to her 
more strongly, and the bright-eyed, shrewd girl standing 
before her embodied an inexorable justice which demanded 
of her the account she found too worthless to present. 

“ The fact is/' exclaimed Constance, annoyed by her 
own reflections, “ my life or my position, I fear, would 
seem a very dull and useless one if analyzed by any one 
who values the usefulness of labor and the dignity of real 
work. I havn’t any — what — what I am doing at this 


BOWEN A. 


311 


moment is about as much as is ever required of me. That 
is not very wearing.” 

“ Well,” admitted Miss Jervis, wdio had been listening 
gravely, “ that depends on how troublesome the visitors 
are. Still, I must say, it seems a pretty idle way of living, 
and tiresome! I guess it would pretty soon wear me out! 
I’d stand it about one month. But, heavens and earth ! 
when I think of what could be done.” 

“Yes! I know!” exclaimed Constance, thoroughly 
roused and interested now. “There, Miss Jervis, we are 
absolutely of one mind, and I hope you can use your in- 
fluence when your cousin returns! There are so many 
ways of using her money !” 

Miss Jervis regarded Constance for a moment in careful 
silence. 

“ What does she say when you tell her so ?” she inquired, 
and before the younger girl could answer, Miss Jervis con- 
tinued ; “ See here — I could show her a thing or two, 
even in her own city of New York, that maybe would 
surprise her. Oh ! I’ve to see a few friends there belong- 
ing to our mission! My! I wonder what they’d say to 
know my cousin owned all this and just sat down and 
took things easy.” 

“ You see, she meets only those who well enjoy it all, just 
as she does ; but when you see her you will understand 
it better.” 

“ I’m not so sure of that !” declared Miss Jervis, who, 
above all things, was tenacious of her own opinions; 
44 and I don’t know as I’d even try ! I guess she wouldn’t 
care much, either.” 

Later, when Constance, as usual, unless Miss Armitage 
made it impossible, went through the evening prayers and 
reading, Miss Jervis inquired “Whose idea that was?” 
and on learning that it was Helen’s, asked if she did it 
herself when she was home, a growing doubt of her 
cousin’s worthiness gaining ground with every new dis- 


312 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


covery. Constance assured her that Miss Armitage merely 
made her her deputy as a matter of convenience, but the 
state of aggressiveness on Miss Jervis’s part was not ap- 
peased. 

“ I never heard of hiring any one to say your prayers 
for you,” she observed, with her thin, handsome nose in 
the air. “ I don’t suppose it’s come to that yet that some 
one’ll do her eating and drinking for her; but there’s no 
knowing !” 

And quite understanding why Constance, as she bade 
her good-night, went away laughing, Miss Jervis closed 
the door of her luxurious apartment and sat down to plan 
for the next day in the city, not without considerable 
satisfaction in the splendors of Fernhills, even though, as 
a missionary and a philanthropist, she found so much to 
deplore and to — if possible — correct. 

And meanwhile Constance wondered what would be her 
fair employer’s opinion of Miss Jervis. 


CHAPTER LXXI. 

THE “RIFT” WIDENS. 

Constance had dispatched a line to Miss Armitage 
announcing the Jervises arrival, and early the next morn- 
ing a messenger-boy arrived with a special-delivery letter, 
which our heroine opened in Rowena’s presence, but with- 
out making any comment as to from whom she thought it 
might be. 

“ Dear Miss Reade ,” it ran, “ if you can contrive it , meet me 
at 3.20 at the Gelston Station — I will he in the telegraph office 
watching for you , as I don't want it supposed I am anyivhere 
near home . Yours , etc ., Helen A .” 

Whatever the cause of the summons, Constance saw her 


THE “RIFT” WIDENS. 


313 


way easily enough to obeying it, since the Jervises would 
be in town until a late hour. If Helen, as seemed likely, 
intended returning at once to Albany or going elsewhere, 
she could do so without being observed. But how could 
she account for a prolonged absence, especially to so keen- 
eyed and vigilant a person as Rowena Jervis ? Ten o’clock 
saw the visitors equipped for departure ; Constance gave 
them all the information in her power, and, directly they 
were gone, set about attending to a large hamper of things 
to be taken down to Moseley’s for poor Jake Mason and 
his family, deciding that as soon as she saw Miss Armitage 
she would call upon her for pecuniary assistance in this 
and one or two other almost equally desperate cases. The 
day was fully occupied. Constance left the house by two 
o’clock in order to spend a little time at Moseley’s before 
the hour for meeting Helen, and, as a result, she reached 
the station in a frame of mind calculated in itself to im- 
press Helen, since every nerve was at its highest tension. 
The relief had come not a moment too soon for all the 
Mason family, but the little life in the baby’s wasted frame 
flickered out even as she took the child in her arms; one 
faint gasp — a half-cry — and the short story of birth-life, 
struggle, want and suffering was ended; death put a swift 
but touching seal of peace and tranquility on the harassed 
baby-face, the closed eyelids spoke of painless sleep, the 
tiny lips a silence that meant peace, the drooping waxen 
hands a perfect rest. Constance tenderly, reverently, laid 
the little form upon the couch, comforted the parents as 
best she might, and, going for a neighbor to stay with the 
mother and children until she could return, went on her 
way, her whole being aroused with a sense of the actual 
cruel perversity, as it seemed to her, which made Helen 
so blind to all that lay at ner very gates to do. 

Upon this certainly high-strung, feverish and almost 
tragic mood Helen Armitage descended, a vision of delicate, 
fairy like loveliness in an exquisite toilette just suited to the 


314 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


day, and looking her very best — certainly never lovelier, 
Constance could not help thinking ; but Helen quickly saw 
that something had gone wrong. Not only was her friend 
pale and nerveless, but there was a curious light in her 
eyes — the look Helen remembered seeing there when she 
spoke of dismissing Kate Brumage. 

“ My dear Miss Reade what has happened !” exclaimed 
the mistress of Fernhills, smiling, but really anxious; “ you 
look as if you had seen a ghost !” 

“I have!” said Constance, gravely, as they turned into 
the telegraph office. She half-sank into a seat and leaned 
her head upon her hand, while Helen took a chair close by, 
prepared for something, unusual — she scarcely knew what. 
“ The ghost of life and liberty and prosperity — everything ! 
Oh !” cried the girl, a sense of her own impotence and the 
other’s smiling indifference nearly stifling her. “ You sit 
there in your lovely gown — with your pretty, smiling face 
— and your happy eyes — and people with every bit as 
good a right to life and love and happiness are dying at 
your gates — in hearing, almost, of the laughter in your 
home — in sight of the luxury — the objects your money is 
squandered upon !” 

She rose, clenching her hands together, and feeling she 
had gone too far ; yet, not caring, she turned away and 
stood looking out into the depot yard. The sudden re- 
version of the picture — the sight of Helen in her costly 
attire — the very perfume wafted about her, had been too 
much for Constance after the scene — the want and naked- 
ness — the sorrow — the death-bed — she had just witnessed. 
But Helen was stonily, singularly silent. She had not the 
least idea to what her favorite companion referred ; but 
whatever it might be, however unconsciously culpable she 
might have been, the terms in which Constance addressed 
her rung in her ears and seemed wholly inexcusable. But 
in an instant Constance turned; she had realized what she 
had done and was ready to explain it more fully. 


THE 11 RIFT 1 WIDENS. 


815 


“ Forgive me,” she said, quickly, and lifting so pale a 
face to Helen’s that the latter appreciated some serious 
motive had impelled her very fervent speech ; “ I admit I 
forgot myself completely. But, Miss Armitage, you bade me 
visit the poor — your poor — and I have this moment come 
from a scene so sad that I could never hope to picture it 
to you — and I must hurry back — I cannot leave them 
long.” 

She briefly stated the Masons’ case ; and Helen, although 
not yet satisfied with her companion, listened with grave 
attention ; her manner, however, was decidedly chilling as 
she said : 

“ This is very kind of you, Miss Reade. As long as you 
do not overwork yourself I am happy to assist these peo- 
ple, through you. Fortunately I brought my check- 
book for another purpose. I wanted to give you money 
to spend on the Jervises in town — though pray do not let 
them know you have seen me. I will add— how much ? — 
well, one hundred dollars for you to spend as you see fit at 
Moseley’s — but please be careful to avoid contagion.” 

“ They will know who is their benefactress,” said Con- 
stance, gravely. “ And now, what shall I say to Mrs. and 
Miss Jervis? It seems a pity that you should lose the 
pleasure of entertaining them.” 

“Pleasure I My dear Miss Reade, are you crazy ? Do the 
honors of Fernhills as if it were your own. For all your 
democratic ideas, you would not make a bad specimen of 
a fine lady. I see it will not do to ask you to make terms 
with your conscience, as Fen says, and fib a little, so just 
tell them what is now the truth — that I am detained in 
Albany on business. Then, as I shall run on to Newport 
for a few days any way, may I ask you to see that Celerine 
— she will be down to-morrow morning — packs quickly — and 
they do not see the trunks leaving. I will be back very 
soon — before they are half-through sight-seeing in New 
York ; and spend all the money you like on them. My 


316 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


train up will be here in five minutes,” she concluded, the 
same chill in her voice, speech, whole manner, causing 
Constance to withdraw more into herself. She longed to 
inquire how affairs had gone with the disposition of Fern- 
hills, and a dozen questions besides ; but Miss Armitage, it 
was clear, intended to withdraw the confidence she would 
have bestowed but for her companion’s outburst, and to 
put deliberate questions was impossible. However, just as 
the interview was ending Helen said, with an effort at care- 
lessness : 

“ I had a line from Mr. Fenton. I think he is annoyed 
about Greybury, and he — Greybury — will be with us all 
the time at Newport.” 

She hesitated — it was clear there was more to tell, but 
Constance had too deeply offended. 

u You need not feel obliged to write unless it is neces- 
sary,” said Helen, finally, and with even more chill of 
manner. “ I am sorry to burden you with my cousins, 
but — ” 

“ You need not be. I am simply doing my duty ; earn- 
ing my salary.” 

Constance spoke no less coldly ; nothing further passed ; 
the train rushed in. Miss Armitage, who carried nothing 
but her umbrella, had only to bow and walk out to the 
main platform, Constance following mechanically and 
standing in silence until the last car had disappeared, a 
queer, half-sickening sense of disheartenment oppressing 
her as she turned to retrace her steps — that feeling of the 
“ little rift within the lute ” so painful, so fraught with 
foreboding to one of sensitive brain and heart, and which 
now added to the saddened frame of mind the want and 
sorrow she had so recently witnessed brought about. 

But the remembrance of Helen’s check roused her, 
and she hastened towards the one large shop in Gelston 
whose owner conducted all business connected with scenes 
of its mourning. His brother’s aid being secured, a few 


MRS. JERVIS’S ANXIETIES. 


317 


purchases for the Mason family made, Constance returned 
to Moseley’s, where Mrs. Mason sat in company with half 
a dozen neighbors, all sympathetic, but more or less con- 
vivially inclined, for which reason Helen’s emissary was 
glad of the power which gave her the right to suggest a 
different method of preparing for the last parting with the 
quiet little form, watched by its stricken mother in one 
corner of the room. 


CHAPTER LXXII. 
mrs. jervis’s anxieties. 

The Fernhills carriage was promptly on time for the 
5.40 train which Constance walked from Moseley’s to meet; 
but only Mrs. Jervis appeared, Rowena having been kept 
in town, that lady explained, by “ her Pa’s nephew ” until 
the next day. This made it easier to explain Miss Armi- 
tage’s absence, and Constance was relieved to find the 
older lady did not seem to be much put about by the 
prospect of a longer delay on Helen’s account. She had 
evidently thoroughly enjoyed her visit to New York ; the 
Trapmens — her connections there — had been so friendly, 
so civil, so anxious to entertain them, and she had only 
come back, she explained, fearing Helen might be there 
and not like it; but now she would go right back the next 
morning, and she and “ Rona ” would stay over night up 
in Harlem. 

All of this simplified matters for Constance, who felt 
unaccountably low-spirited, and made it easier for her to 
give Mrs. Jervis her full attention ; the time would be 
short, she would make it as agreeable as possible, and the 
old lady — it seemed to Constance right to call her so — was 
very easily amused and entertained. When, after giving 


318 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


Celerine the most careful injunctions in regard to the trunks 
and her journey with them early the next day, Constance 
suggested a little walk in the woodland belonging to the 
grounds, Mrs. Jervis cheerfully assented, and they were 
presently walking through the green archways. 

Mrs. Jervis was in a very cheery frame of mind. Evi- 
dently the Harlem connections had been cordial, and 
perhaps were more to her liking than Helen Armitage 
would prove; but she admitted to Constance that one in- 
fluence at work was troubling her* 

“ It’s Rona’s ideas,” she explained. “ The dear knows 
where she’s got ’em, and a nephew of Jane Trapmen’s just 
egging her on. She ain't what they call a Socialist — oh, 
dear, no! but she thinks money and things ought to be 
so fixed that the workingman will receive as much as the 
banker. And to-morrow — why, Miss Reade,” Mrs. Jervis 
lowered her voice, “ what you think, Rona’s going to a big 
meeting. I can’t hinder her. She’s her own boss. May- 
be Helen doesn’t know, but Rona’s grandma left her quite 
a little sum all of her own, and she’s free as air how to 
spend it. She’s going to stay on for awhile, she says, 
now, in New York, maybe all winter, and she’s looking 
about for some nice young woman to — well, help her — 
kind of a secretary.’ 1 

Constance spoke impulsively. “ Oh, is she! Mrs. Jervis, 
I know 01 such a nice girl ! She used to teach Miss A r- 
mitage’s kindergarten, but she has given it up at present, 
and she really needs some work.” 

“ Well, you might tell Rona; I only hope she’s a girl 
that will keep Rona from going too deep into all these 
schemes ! My ! it has me that worried ! I shiver all over 
when I hear dynamite mentioned — I wish — oh, I wish you 
could go to the meeting to-morrow; then, don’t you see, 
you could tell her just what you thought — she’d maybe 
listen to you.” 

Constance hesitated — but reflection showed her that in 


MRS. JERVIS S ANXIETIES 


319 


the pursuance of her duty to Miss Armitage she had every 
right to go in town, as Mrs. Jervis suggested. 

“ It is an evening session, I suppose ?” 

“ Yes — they’re to meet at five or six o’clock, I believe. 
I’m to go in very early in the day, but Rona says I must 
stay over night with the Trapmens, whether I go to the 
meeting or not.” 

Constance considered a moment longer and then decided 
it might be managed. She could, perhaps, remain over 
night at Mr. Cargill’s, and certainly it would be interest- 
ing to attend such a gathering as would assemble to hear 
Miss Jervis and her friends speak on the subject of labor 
and organizations, etc. They were not likely to belong to 
a very fiery or imprudent class. Constance was not afraid 
of either disorder or intolerance. Something told her that 
with all her radicalism Miss Jervis was very fond of the 
comforts if not luxuries of life, and there was nothing 
in her attire in any way suggestive of anarchy, or even the 
New Woman. 

“I can meet you, perhaps, about five o’clock,” Con- 
stance said as they returned to the house; and Mrs. Jervis, 
who, it was clear, had her own anxieties connected with 
her daughter’s venture, seemed greatly relieved. 

“ You look so quiet and steady, my dear,” the elder wo- 
man said, with a sigh, “ I’d never be afraid to trust myself 
anywheres with you.” 

A note addressed to Constance lay on the hall table, and 
even as she picked it up Peters was saying : 

“ Mr. Fenton was here, Miss ; I couldn’t say where you’d 
gone. He was in a great hurry, but he looked about the 
gardens and then left that.” 

Mrs. Jervis w r as made comfortable in the deepest easy- 
chair in the drawing-room before Constance had a chance 
to read her note in silence. 

“ So sorry to miss you ,” it ran. u Browning is coming over to 
do the polite to the Jervises early to-morrow — by half -past nine 


320 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


— and 1 will call an hour or so later . I wish 'particularly to see 
you. J. F” 

Constance remembered her duties in Shin-bone Alley 
as quickly as she felt a thrill of pleasure in the prospect 
of a quiet talk with Fenton ; but might not the two be 
combined ? Remembrance of her recent talk with Helen 
sent the color flying to her cheeks. “ He shall meet me or 
go with me there” she reflected. “Why need I hesitate to 
show him the needs in this garden of luxury and con- 
tent?” 


CHAPTER LXXIII. 

“ I BELIEVE IN YOU.” 

Norman Browning arrived punctually on time the next 
morning, and Constance at once concluded Fenton must 
have given him the best of advice, since nothing could 
have been more perfect than his manner to Mrs. Jervis, 
who was delighted beyond measure by his attentions, and 
offer to act as her escort to New York. While the older 
lady was putting on her outdoor garments Browning had 
a chance to tell Constance he had heard from Clare Cole- 
man, explaining with a rather conscious manner that hers 
was in answer to a letter he had written himself. 

“ She speaks of coming to New York and is to write 
you in a day or two, she says,” Mr. Browning concluded ; 
and then Mrs. Jervis’s return cut short all further confi- 
dences and the trio started off, Constance to Shin-bone 
Alley for a final arrangement in regard to Jake Mason’s 
removal and some disposition of his family until his wife 
could obtain employment. They were passing Mrs. 
Cooley’s door when it opened suddenly and Kate Brumage, 
flushing and paling alternately, appeared, putting out a 


321 


“I BELIEVE IN YOU : 1 

detaining hand to Rogers, who on a sign from Con- 
stance very promptly drew rein, Peters assisting her to 
alight. 

“ Oh, Miss Reade, I must see you — stop coming back ! I 
will wait.” Miss Brumage spoke with breathless fervor, 
pressing Constance’s hand, while the latter said, quickly : 

“ Very well, Miss Brumage— do this for me — watch for 
Mr. Fenton, who will be coming any minute. Tell him I 
have gone down to Moseley’s building, and I want partic- 
ularly to see him there.” 

Constance felt a sense of relief in having made this arrange- 
ment, and uttered her good-byes and promise to be in town 
later, to meet the Jervises at the place indicated — a down- 
town hall or assembly room — in a much more cheerful 
frame of mind — turning back at once to the gloomy, dis- 
reputable building where the Mason family were awaiting 
her— how eagerly, she saw directly she entered the forlorn- 
looking little rooms. All traces of the recent sorrow had 
been removed. Mr. Mason was prepared for his depart- 
ure, a friend with a comfortable-covered wagon having 
agreed to drive him up to the nearest boat landing, 
whence he could take passage to the station, at which the 
hospital doctor written to would see to the rest of his jour- 
ney. Knowing that “ the wife ” and her little flock were 
in good hands made the leave-taking easier, and directly 
he had been driven away Constance turned to offer Mrs. 
Mason some assistance in her rearrangement of the 
seemingly deserted room. While they w r orked, Constance 
lending her aid in such a matter-of-fact genial fashion 
that nothing seemed intrusive, the poor woman told of 
her struggles to maintain the little family without aid 
for months since her husband’s last seizure, and again the 
pitiful contrast between this woman’s condition and that 
of the meanest toiler within the Fernhills gates arose, to 
make Constance doubly anxious that its fair young mis- 
tress should see and know these people for herself. 

21 


322 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


Moseley’s was an admirable starting-point. Fenton 
surely would not dissuade her from a project already 
formed to try, unless Helen’s mood was too repellent, 
and induce her to purchase the entire property, recon- 
structing it with a view to its giving homes , not merely a 
half-ruinous shelter, to deserving families. 

1 Constance was in the doorway, her slim figure in its 
garb of dark-blue, with corn-flowers in the white straw hat, 
framed by the dark oak which had belonged to Moseley’s 
better days, the wretched hall and stairway a background 
which seemed to make her fairness and high-breeding the 
more effective when Fenton turned the corner of the lane, 
looked up, smiled, and allowed his eyes to rest . upon her 
for an instant, with the same gleam of intense satisfaction 
— approval — sympathy — hard to define; a glance which 
sprang from hitherto unsounded depths of the man’s nature 
— which the sight of the girl unconsciously evoked— -and 
then he saw that she held out her hand in good-bye to 
Mrs. Mason as cordially as she would have done to an old 
friend, leaving the poor woman decidedly brighter and 
more composed — even hopeful— from her visit. 

“ Well, here I am, you see,” said Fenton, offering his 
hand with a grave smile. “ Miss Brumage gave me your 
message with an air of command. What am I expected 
to do ?” 

Constance had joined him, and she stood still a moment, 
now looking up at the forlorn building she had just 
quitted. 

“ Reconstruct Moseley’s,” she exclaimed. u Oh, if only 
/had the power to do it !” 

Fenton looked down into the face she lifted to his, 
startled by the expression of intensity on brow and lips—' 
deepening the very color of the eyes she had raised to his, 
while something impelled him to say, quickly : 

“ I believe in you ! Moseley’s is but a starting-point for 
what ought to be, could be done, and in your hands !” 


“ I BELIEVE IN YOU” 


323 


She moved on ; the color had ebbed away from her face 
and she slowly shook her head. 

“An idle dream, Mr. Fenton,” the girl said, sadly. “ I 
have no such power — never will have, I fear ; but you — 
you can have it if you like ; for, as I have said before, your 
wish, even, is law to your cousin. Why not give her the 
useful occupation it would be to rebuild Moseley’s on a 
newer principle ?” She lifted her eyes with a smile, full of 
charm, to the grave face of her companion. “ I will gladly 
prepare a plan , if you like, which you can submit. I have 
it all very clearly in my mind.” She hesitated, and as 
Fenton was about to speak, said, as calmly as possible, 
“ Who knows what I may think of doing after to-night? 
I have agreed to meet Miss Jervis and her mother at Peli- 
can Union Hall, on Street, near Fourth Avenue.” 

Fenton stood still in horror. “ Are you mad !” he ex- 
claimed. “ What on earth do you mean by going to these 
places ?” 

She laughed, and quickly and coherently as possible 
explained the position ; but Fenton, although greatly re- 
lieved to find how slight was her own connection with the 
affair, was still annoyed. He suggested various means of 
escape ; but seeing that Constance was firm, and in the 
main right, so far as feeling pledged to the lady who was 
certainly her charge, if not virtually her guest, was brought 
at last to agreeing to meet her at the hall before the session 
ended. 

“ Mind you wait near the entrance for me,” he said, still 
in a tone of disapproval. “ I am exceedingly vexed to 
think my time is not my own for the entire evening. I 
thought Browning was to be with these people.” 

“ I cannot be sure — it is hard to say, but I hope so ; and 
now, Mr. Fenton,” she looked at him very earnestly, “ I 
am seriously wrought up about Moseley’s and the condi- 
tion it represents. May I trust its fate in your hands ?” 

“You mean, will I speak of it to my cousin? I think 


324 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


so— yes— there, I will promise so much ; but remember, I 
am by no means sure of success.’ ’ 

They walked on for a few moments in silence, though 
Constance was longing to ask him various questions — to 
speak of Helen — the Albany visit — wondering how it had 
resulted; what would be the outcome of Miss Armitage’s 
plan ; but, of course, it was impossible to seem curious or 
intrusive, and at last she was forced to say, in a merely 
general way, and with a manner which sounded almost 
too restrained : 

“ I trust all the business matters in Albany went as 
they should — your cousin’s, I mean ?” 

A smile of peculiar significance lurked about Fenton’s 
lips; he gave a slight shrug to his shoulders, said “ Yes, 
let us hope so,” and the subject, dropped, could hardly be 
renewed. At the same moment Miss Brumage, who was 
approaching them from the river road, seemed to give 
Fenton a sudden inspiration. 

“ Miss Reade,” he exclaimed, “ it may not be necessary 
for Miss Brumage to go home to-night — I happen to know 
she merely came to look after her belongings — why not 
take her with you to this place — Helicon or Pelican Hall, 
whichever it may be. She is not very formidable, but at 
least you will not be alone, in case Browning has not ac- 
companied your friends.” 

“ The very thing,” Constance declared ; and remember- 
ing her thought earlier in the day, she added : 

“ I hope she will come, because I wanted her to meet the 
Jervises particularly.” 

“ Ah — do they add a kindergartening mania to Anarch- 
ism?” 

“ How can you ! I declare I shall never admit to any 
even decided views in your presence, lest you label them 
in some extravagant fashion. No, I have a very good rea- 
son.” She half-regretted speaking, not wishing to tell of 
Helen’s curt dismissal of the little teacher. 


A PRIESTESS OF THE PEOPLE . 


325 


u Miss Armitage may not care for the kindergarten an- 
other year,” she said gravely. 

‘‘Indeed? And — oh, I see — your busy brain is at work 
devising something for those left on the field when the 
slaughter of the innocents is over — for it is little less than 
slaughter to give them only enough of Froebel to make 
public schooling difficult.” 

Constance laughed. 

u You ask too much of me to day,” she said lightly, “ or 
else I don’t know how to parry and thrust as I should. 
Well, here is Miss Brumage,” and she smiled on the little 
teacher, who, somewhat confused by the presence of the 
very important Mr. Fenton, blushed up to her eyes, while 
trying to thank Constance for asking her to go with her in 
town. 

“ I expect to see you with crimson sashes or knots of 
scarlet somewhere, at least,” said Fenton, as he put them 
on the train. “Au re voir, Miss Reade. Miss Brumage, 
try and keep her in order, if possible. I suspect your 
friend of being anxious to fling some new theory for the 
advancement of mankind upon the world, via Pelican 
Hall and its Reformers. 0 


CHAPTER LXXIV. 

A PRIESTESS OF THE PEOPLE. 

A recent strike in a large wholesale “ ready-made ” 
clothing house had been the motive for the gathering in 
Pelican Hall which Miss Jervis, and, on her account, other 
of our Fernhills friends, decided to attend. The wrongs 
were fresh in the minds of those whom the principals of 
the firm seemed to oppress ; the weather was sultry, bod- 
ing a storm ; the neighborhood was one in which all trade 


326 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


takes on an air of enforced inactivity in spite of— possibly 
because of — its being so near to centres whereon time 
and custom have laid the seal of permanence and insured 
success, and the denizens of the great metropolis who saw 
fit to attend the meeting belonged, for the most part, to a 
class in which something insurgent is always popular ; a 
wrong to be righted more alluring than any definite effort 
towards reform ; an opportunity to oppose their own in- 
sufficiency of dress and bodily welfare to that of the more 
successful artisan or man of means welcomed with an en- 
thusiasm which if merely patriotic would be of inestimable 
value in a national crisis. Pelican Hall, on this occasion, 
was filled to overflowing by as mixed and yet in one sense 
uniform a gathering of people as can well be imagined ; 
but there were so few of the class — of, at least, outward 
elegance — of Miss Jervis and her cousin, Mr. Trapmen, as 
well as Mr. Norman Browning, Constance and Miss Bru- 
mage, that their appearance was noticeable, occasioning a 
slight movement in a very rough group near the door, 
whereby an opening was made towards the centre aisle. 
Thence they made their way towards the first vacant seats 
in sight, Miss Jervis, who had been thoroughly roused by 
at least two hours of hot debate at her cousin’s house on 
some of the points at issue, talking volubly directly they 
were seated, while Constance could only look about her, 
searching in the sea of faces for types of humanity more 
or less kin to her idea of what people bent on honest re- 
form in any cause should suggest ; and, in spite of much 
that reduced her sympathies to a low and struggling ebb, 
these were to be found. Here and there were men and 
women with a touch of the “ spark divine ” in their worn 
and eager faces which gave dignity to the cruder, coarser, 
more babbling intention and drift of their neighbors — 
faces, for instance, like one not far away, that of a 
young Polish-American girl, on which was the imprint of 
an ideal heroism such as would have found its altar fires 


A PRIESTESS OF THE PEOPLE. 


327 


ready to kindle in earlier days, when the sacrifice was a 
religious one, or vented its noble pulsing in toil for those 
who fought and died for their native land. A public 
wrong — a human need — a point for concentrated moving 
action of the many; these are the required motives for 
natures such as this girl’s, as great and as inspiring as the 
impulse which makes other women rule in perfection an 
ideal home or send forth their sons to battle equipped 
with every element of manhood and nobility. And 
among many coarser, more selfish or merely vindictive 
faces, the thin, somewhat barbaric features of this young 
woman, who presented the rather unusual type of black 
eyes and auburn hair, showed, with a peculiar purity of 
expression, nobility of purpose and resolve. Her dress 
w T as of the coarsest, plainest description ; a black gown of 
cheap material absolutely untrimmed, although those 
around her, for the most part, showed, no matter in how 
cheap a form, some attempt at fashionable cut or decora- 
tion ; her head-gear a black straw bonnet, tied under her 
chin, and heightening the effect of her complexion, which 
was brilliantly fair and entirely devoid of color, the thin, 
nervous lips alone showing a line of crimson. Presently 
the speaker on the platform ended his appeal to the as- 
semblage to stand firm though death from starvation re- 
sult, etc., etc. ; and no sooner had he descended from the 
rostrum amidst applause tumultuous from emotion — 
nervous frenzy — the excitement of, perhaps, hunger and 
exposure, as well as the “ cause ” to be upheld, than the 
young girl Constance had been watching closely for the 
last five minutes detached herself from the crowd and 
made her way towards the platform. Instantly cries went 
up from fifty, at least, of the spectators who recognized 
and cheered her. “Who can she be?” Constance had 
just turned to ask Mr. Trapmen when he said, addressing 
all of his party : 

“That is Lottie Pervilsky. She is quite uncommon in 


328 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


her way. Not a bit of an Anarchist, but a terrific striker. 
She has organized, led and encouraged no end of strikes, 
but she never breaks a law.” 

The girl, who appeared entirely indifferent to the ovation 
tendered her, interrupted the cheering by beginning in a 
terse, rapid, but very self-possessed manner, to speak. Al- 
most at once she informed her hearers that she came there 
with no claims whatever of education or other power than 
that which her hopes for her fellow-workers gave her. 

“ If I read anything,” she said in her vibrant, pene- 
trating voice, “ it is of what you are all doing and need- 
ing, or of what other men and women who toil as we do 
have done and needed, felt and suffered ; I have no time 
for anything else. Perhaps, even if I had, the wrongs just 
among those who work side by side with myself would 
make it impossible for me to understand the words printed 
before me, as all my heart and brain and being is full of 
them — only them. I am alone in the world; that is, I 
have only an old father to support, so I can afford to give 
you my time and thought. I can — better than many I 
see here — afford to strike when there is good reason for 
it, even though, at the best of times, and working fourteen 
hours a day, my highest earnings are only six dollars a 
week.’ 7 

From this the girl went on detailing the struggles of her 
fellow-laborers who toiled for their millionaire employers 
to earn, at the most, wages which, ranging from $3.50 to 
$7.00 or $8.00 at the highest per week, had to, as a rule, 
support a whole family. 

u I know of men and women,” said the girl in her 
steady, vibrant voice, “ who never taste meat from Sunday 
noon to Saturday night ; who never lift their eyes from 
their needles once in an hour; who breathe the stifling at- 
mosphere of the work-room day in and day out ; who only 
hear of sunshine and green fields, and who would hardly 
know how to find their way on Broadway or Fifth Avenue ; 


A PRIESTESS OF THE PEOPLE . 


329 


men and women born to as good a right to live well and 
brightly and happily as the people that crowd them down. 
And for all this wearing, wasting toil, what do they get in 
return? Not always, my friends, even one dollar — one 
hundred cents for their fourteen hours of daily labor; and 
when, with sunken eyes and wasted cheeks and pallid 
lips they ask for more — for what will feed the starving 
mouths at home — they have as an answer the information 
their services are no longer needed. What then is left us 
hut to boldly stand together in the only refuge of the op- 
pressed — the strike ? and sooner would I live on dry bread 
and water a week longer , my friends, as I swear to you I 
and mine have lived for a week past , than give in one iota 
of our just demand! What ! Are we to toil our lives 
away — wear out heart, and brain, and body, and soul — 
that men like this Bernstein may live in luxury ? Creatures 
like Wolfhauser ride in their coaches, wear their broad- 
cloth and sleep on down, while we , who pay for it all, are 
walking through mud and sleet and hail, or rising from 
beds of straw, worn and weary, to begin another day, an- 
other grind of fourteen hours slavery — sale of our eyes, 
our hands, our limbs, our hearts, our lives. Inch by inch 
the work-room takes it, draws it in, sucks it into the whirl- 
pool of its own gulf of destruction. In other times, in 
other lands, slaves of color or of creed have been set free 
by an indignant uprising of a people. Their efforts were 
applauded to the echo — urged on and glorified. Now, my 
friends, we mean, I am sure, to preserve peace and order 
both in this meeting, which is only called together to de- 
vise a way and means to our just end, and in the methods 
we shall use. Order and peace, but firmness , I advocate 
and demand of you all ; but is it honor , is it strength , is it 
jusii e to submit our lives, body and soul, heart and brain — 
to give up our children's bread, that of our aged parents, 
the peace of our homes and firesides — to the demands of 
these vultures of commerce ? — these birds of prey ? — these 


330 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


hawks of trade ? Stand together ! Break not a single law ! 
Act in peace and concord. Starve, if it must be, a little 
longer, but defend your rights as men and women, living, 
breathing, toiling people, as boldly and bravely as God 
knows you all would the country’s flag were its honor 
menaced.” 

Wild and uproarious cheering greeted this pale, dark- 
eyed, red-haired girl, who, in her shabby black gown, and 
with her calm but intensely dramatic manner, brought her 
speech to a sudden close with no rhetorical display — no 
brilliancy of diction — nothing borrowed from any source 
to aid her impassioned, untutored utterance. Butin the 
midst of the vehement applause, a disturbance near the 
door, occasioned by a tall, thin young man, who was forcing 
his way through a crowd whom he was rather too freely 
criticizing, caused an unpleasant commotion. The youth 
was seen suddenly to throw up his hands. Lottie Pervilsky 
darted towards him as he fell, and in some way struck 
against Rowena Jervis, who, excited beyond all power of 
self-control, had moved forward, bent on making her way 
towards the platform. It was a moment of indescribable 
confusion. How it happened no one could ever tell, and 
the unusual place and scene made everything more or less 
bewildering to our party. Constance was only aware that 
Rowena had tripped and fallen forward in meeting Miss 
Pervilsky; a moment later a crowd was pressing about 
them. Both, in falling, had struck against the broken 
curve of a bench, and lay apparently senseless, and in 
danger of being suffocated, it would seem, by the excited 
people. But Browning, who had been for an instant 
thrust back, made his way now, forcing a path which two 
officers speedily increased by a vigorous use of their clubs, 
and explaining to the blue-coated guardians of the peace 
who he was, he contrived to lift Rowena in his strong 
arms, the policemen following with the young Polish girl, 
and with Mrs. Jervis, Constance and Miss Brumage close 


A CATASTROPHE. 


331 


beside them, all fairly stunned by the shock and fright of 
the accident, they effected an entrance into an adjoining 
room, where the crowd, curious and eager though they 
might be, were promptly — effectively — barred out. 


CHAPTER LXXV. 

A CATASTROPHE. 

It was too clearly a case demanding medical attention 
to admit of any objection to the ambulance-call sent out 
by the officer, who insisted that both of the injured par- 
ties should be removed at once. Were only Fenton here, 
thought Constance, some plan might be devised ; but he 
was not. She could only urge Mr. Browning to see that 
the Jervises and herself find a refuge in some hotel, not 
hospital ; and after a brief consultation with the ambu- 
lance surgeon, who arrived in an incredibly short space 
of time, this was managed. Money being no object, Miss 
Jervis, as soon as consciousness returned, was made as 
comfortable as possible on a stretcher and carried down to 
the large brougham ordered from the nearest livery-stable, 
Browning taking from the hospital doctor the address of a 
good physician, and also that of a house not far away 
where, the physician said, he was sure his card, with a 
written explanation, would be all that was needed to 
obtain a comfortable resting-place, his own cousin being 
the landlady. 

Browning, who remembered that Fenton might be even 
then looking for them, agreed to remain on the lookout, 
since young Mr. Trapmen could attend to his cousin and 
the other ladies, and as they drove away he promised 
Constance to call at the address given within an hour. 


332 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


The house was near by, though the drive seemed end- 
less ; and although making slight complaint, and indeed 
scarcely opening her eyes, it was evident that Rowena's 
suffering was great. The house was reached— a stationer’s 
on a corner within a few blocks of Pelican Hall — and Mr. 
Trapmen rang the bell and stood some minutes parleying 
with a tall, thin, severe-looking woman before he came 
back to the carriage to say it was all right, since Dr. 
Blythe, the name on the surgeon’s card, had said so, and 
he could have her front parlor and a hall room, anyway 
for the night. 

Constance, who was composed enough now and keenly 
aware of her own responsibility where Miss Armitage^s 
guests were concerned, took it upon herself to act as 
leader of the party, Mrs Jervis being absolutely inca- 
pable, it would seem, of more than a hopeless, silent 
acquiescence. She followed the owner of the house into 
her upstairs parlor, where a folding bed was soon made 
ready, gave a few general directions, and within half an 
hour Miss Jervis was carried upstairs, Mr. Trapmen had 
gone for the doctor, and Mrs. Jervis had submitted to 
having her own bonnet and wrap removed, while Miss 
Brumage and Constance made the now conscious but 
still suffering Rowena as comfortable as the circum- 
stances would allow. In a very short time the doctor 
apjjeared, and breathless was the anxiety with which his 
verdict was awaited. Miss Jervis had sprained her wrist 
and ankle, and was suffering chiefly from “ shock,” but 
it was a relief to know no bones were broken. Rowena 
was eager to explain that Lottie Pervilsky had fallen 
through her efforts to save Aer, and ought at once to be 
looked after. 

“/ was moving forward,” explained Rowena, “thinking 
if I had a chance I would speak to her. That man who 
was elbowing his way ahead had something in his hand. 
I can’t say whether he tried to raise it towards me, or 


A CATASTROPHE, 


333 


quite how it happened, but I saw her quick movement, 
her glance of horror at me. She certainly suffered on my 
account, and I must find out where they have taken her.” 

Only an assurance that on the morrow the fate of the 
Polish girl would be ascertained quieted Miss Jervis, whose' 
philanthropy thereby occurred to Constance as decidedly 
more real — more human and unselfish — than it had 
seemed before. The effect of the great insurgent meet- 
ing had raised in Constance sympathies, awakened 
emotions, and enlighted her intelligence in an entirely 
novel manner, while she was in the Hall. The accident 
had seemed hut a fitting climax to an experience every 
element in which was more or less overstrained and unu- 
sual — decidedly theatrical in certain of its aspects, although 
the gaunt look on so many faces — the haggard eyes and 
threadbare clothing — the ominous and sullen sort of silence 
— the forcible utterances of Lottie Pervilsky and the violent 
applause — all indicated a condition of things real enough 
and devoid of everything like “stage effect.” To Constance 
it had seemed to rush into the channels of her life with 
a sudden power of its own, sweeping minor things before 
it — displacing others — flinging the glare of a life in which 
all but the actual needs of the race were unknown upon 
her own present mode of life, which seemed thereby to be 
the mere world of players — puppets on the stage of human- 
ity and reality— lifeless, useless creatures, whose very 
voices were devoid of feeling — whose sentiments were hol- 
low, purposeless, or by contrast mawkishly sentimental. 
Fernhills in its luxurious repose, instinct with a life ideal 
in its own way, seemed to drift far out of her mental vision 
as Constance sat by the injured girl’s bedside, feeling cu- 
riously drawn towards those agitated people whose wrongs 
she had heard described. Their personality and methods 
were repellent. The general intention was no doubt over- 
drawn and savored too much of the spirit of mere revolt 
against custom ; and yet the fact that while they jarred 


334 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


upon that hyperfastidious sense against which she was 
always warring, she was in sympathy with their human 
cry for help, confirmed in her belief that their rights were to 
— must — be respected, and made part of the Universal Law. 


CHAPTER LXXVI. 

“give me the riget!” 

Fenton’s annoyance equalled his anxiety when, on 
reaching Pelican Hall soon after Browning arrived there, 
he learned what had happened, and notwithstanding the 
lateness of the hour he insisted on seeing Constance for 
himself. But it was at first only Miss Brumage who came 
out into the hallway to tell him the patient had just 
“dozed off” — to go over the particulars Browning had 
already given, and then to receive from him an almost 
stern injunction under no circumstances to desert Miss 
Reade. For himself, fearing some garbled account might 
reach her, he would telegraph to Miss Armitage, then go 
over to Palisley’s rooms for the night with Browning, and 
be back bright and early the next morning. Constance 
had appeared as he was saying this, and Fenton added, 
sharply, she had better take some care of herself; but this 
she scornfully put aside — her own case requiring no fur- 
ther regard than a very brief respite of sleep during the 
night. She was relieved to find he would be back early; 
also that he would write Miss Armitage particulars which 
would explain all, without distressing her. 

Fenton on leaving Constance roamed about for an hour 
or more, smoking two or three pipes, and thinking over 
various recent occurrences in a frame of mind which was 
anything but conducive to repose. He had written Helen 


“ GIVE ME THE RIGHT !” 


335 


in the reading-room of a Broadway hotel, and while assur- 
ing her of Constance’s well-being offered a suggestion that 
she be relieved from too arduous nursing in such weather. 
It was not easy for him to frame his sentences ; there was 
always too much of a conflict going on in his mind when 
thought of the two girls was present. Within a day or 
two he would join his cousin in Albany, and then, no 
doubt, he could speak to her on the subject which Con- 
stance had made appear like a duty, the “reform” at 
Moseley’s, which — Fenton smiled to himself as he thought 
of it— there was no doubt, once that very impulsive young 
person had set her mind upon it, would prosper. What, 
he asked himself, was there about this girl which, in spite 
of her youth, her extreme girlishness, her utter freedom 
from all worldly guile, gave her such a peculiar power? 
What constituted her charm ? For charm there unques- 
tionably — should he say unfortunately? — was in every- 
thing about and belonging to her sweet personality ; and a 
rare power lay back of it, impelling respect, even while her 
youth was so freshly, innocently assertive. Well, he 
would not, should not dare intrude upon her fair young life 
thoughtlessly ; but what was there to hinder a friendly 
fraternal “watch and ward ” of her interests, even though, 
for the present at least, it must be from a distance? He 
might be even yet of some distinct service to her, and Fen- 
ton asked himself suddenly how it would fare with him 
were that service to include anything which would make 
their friendship merely conventional? She would doubt- 
less marry — perhaps drift away out of his life — merge her 
own into another’s; and Fenton fancied he was not mis- 
taken in thinking that Constance would not give a half- 
surrender of her heart to any man. No. Marriage with 
her would mean a bond for the very angels of God to rat- 
ify ; a union which should be entire — loyal in its inner- 
most and outer fibre — complete in its every assurance as 
well as motive, and full of a trust deep, tender and abid- 


336 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


ing, which would enlarge and strengthen, sweeten and 
purify the dual existence it might make perfect! But 
away with such fancies ! Fenton stood still in the now 
quiet square he was crossing and passed his hand across 
his brow. There was no hint that she could or did care 
for him. And how was he to abandon what he felt to be a 
trust — giving the first thought to his cousin’s welfare and 
future protection ? 

Morning brought Fenton to afar calmer frameof a mind, 
a cooler reasoning faculty, so that little trace of his mid- 
night self-communing was in his manner when he called 
at Constance’s temporary resting-place, where he found the 
patient decidedly better, and so eager now to hear from 
the Polish girl that she could not be pacified without 
sending to find out more in regard to her present well-be- 
ing and her past history. Fenton agreed to make all nec- 
essary inquiries, and departed armed with Mrs. Jervis’s 
permission to send in a trained nurse. This would en- 
sure not only systematic care of the invalid, but give Con- 
stance a chance to rest. Although declaring herself quite 
well, there was a look of unnatural brightness in her eyes, 
and her cheeks were decidedly too pale to satisfy her in- 
spector. 

Constance and Miss Brumage between them had proved 
very efficient, and when Mrs. Jervis suggested going up 
town for an hour to the Trapmens and gathering their 
few belongings together, our heroine was glad to suggest 
that Kate accompany her, feeling sure in no way could 
an opening be better made for her proposition in regard 
to Miss Brumage’s permanent establishment with the 
Jervises than by just such association. 

“ And now then,” said Fenton in a low tone — aside — to 
Constance, “ if I send in the nurse and she proves all right, 
will you go with me to find this young female agitator? 
The fresh air — I will get a hansom cab— will do you good, 
and we can get something for you to eat.” 


11 GIVE ME THE RIGHT!” 


337 


She smiled, and before she spoke Fenton, bending a 
little lower, said : 

“ Do you remember our last wander ?” 

She nodded her head, and there could be no fear of any 
one pronouncing her too pale the next moment; but 
neither spoke, until at last Constance said, a trifle anx- 
iously : 

“ I was expecting letters — I ought to send to Gelston 
for any that may be there ; and Mr. Browning mentioned 
a possibility of Clare’s coming on.” 

Fenton took out his note-book promptly. 

“ I will telegraph for it all, and Browning will be here 
himself, later. Well” — he held out his hand — “ it is agreed, 
then ?” 

“ Gratefully ! What should I — we — have done without 
you !” 

She stood at the head of the dingy little staircase, watch- 
ing him as he went away, a singular sense of security and 
the restfulness she always felt in Fenton’s presence pre- 
venting her from either gainsaying his wishes or feeling 
the anxiety of the sick room more than she could bear, 
and Rowena was delighted with the idea of her finding the 
Polish girl. There was diversion, too, in the thought of 
the trained nurse, a functionary whose coming Miss Jervis 
looked forward to almost gleefully, that profession being 
one she had so for never encountered, but of which she 
had heard so much and so many contradictory reports 
that she was eager to judge for herself, and, if necessary, 
do brave battle either for or against. 

To be near her father’s home set Constance wonder- 
ing whether she had not best call there and make general 
inquiries. This was a subject hard, if not actually impos- 
sible, to discuss with Fenton, and she decided to await 
Clare Coleman’s coming. That very practical and loving 
friend would counsel her the best. Genevieve’s affairs 
were a second anxiety. Surely, however, the girl was too 

22 


338 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


shrewd to entangle herself in anything which would prove 
unfortunate — disastrous to her own welfare ; and from 
these points Constance reverted to that which threatened 
more actual complication — at least more immediate need 
for consideration than any other — her position with Miss 
Armitage. 

For, look upon it as she might, see it in its most hope- 
ful aspect, Constance could not but feel her own tenure at 
Fernhills was slight, and the heiress's need of her insuf- 
ficient to make it probable, or even likely, she would re- 
main there for any length of time. Charming, luxurious 
as were her surroundings, Constance could not feel them 
in any way permanent or her own, w T hile a definite source 
of dissatisfaction had arisen which made her form a re- 
solve that directly an opportunity offered she would with- 
draw from all personal connection with Fernhills — resign 
her position, and once more start out to make or win her 
way — earn her livelihood among strangers. 

It was hard to contemplate, hard to admit to herself, 
even, that the groundwork for such a change in all her 
plans was her own inability to otherwise fight a feeling 
which she realized was taking too deep a root, too firm a 
hold, upon the citadel of her heart. Absence — definite, 
total and prolonged — must effect a cure ! The blood surged 
into Constance’s cheeks as she thought how w r eak, how 
almost unmaidenly, even Fenton himself might think, 
this danger which menaced her — so far danger only — 
therefore to be promptly, speedily and surely averted ; its 
shadow flung away, once and forever! Not that our 
heroine, free as she might be from all tinge of self-lauda- 
tion, felt herself unworthy the regard of such a man, since 
well she knew what she had, might, or could offer, were 
there question of return, w r ould be deep and full in meas- 
ure as that received ; but there was wrong, if not actual 
treachery, in permitting such a thought to take refuge in 
her heart or brain for a moment. Doubly treacherous 


“GIVE ME THE RIGHT!” 


339 


would she be to encourage what was perhaps only an idle 
fancy — a passing interest — in one tacitly, if not actually, 
pledged to the girl whose roof sheltered her, whose bread 
she was breaking, whose very confidence she had received ! 
The thought, the horror of anything so deceitful and so 
unwomanly, gave Constance new courage — armed her with 
the very mixture of freedom and reserve in manner which 
made Fenton surer than he had been before that there was 
at least no sentiment attached to what he believed to be a 
certain social pleasure or relaxation for Constance when 
in his company, and, if it left him freer in mind while 
they made the journey in the hansom cab to the hospital, 
decided him to end his own state of indecision and put 
himself beyond temptation to be false to what once more 
took on the aspect of a — however chilling — u duty.” 

“ I have two wishes only, or experiences, now ungrati- 
fied,” said Constance, as, on leaving the hospital, where 
they had seen and ministered somewhat to the comfort of 
Lottie Pervilsky, promising to call soon again, Fenton 
ordered the cabman to drive to a restaurant in the Park, 
“ and I am beginning to think Fate so kind, even those 
may be granted me.” 

Fenton looked down upon her and smiled. The even- 
ing was cool, soft, and the Park road ahead of them de- 
lightfully green, odorous and quiet. The young man 
wondered how long he could dare let the recollection of 
this pleasant evening abide with him — the picture of Con- 
stance at the bedside of the Polish girl, which was so 
effective, so marked a contrast to others in his daily life — 
in that of his Cousin Helen’s, for instance — rest upon the 
tablet of happy memory. 

“ Only two ! Come, Miss Reade ; let us hear what the 
two ungratified desires of that young heart of yours might 
be? Who knows? — we may be able to realize them.” 

She shook her head. 

“No; there is no hope of that ! One was only a little 


340 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


thing, yet trifles mean so much to me.” She looked up at 
him. “ Don’t laugh at me ! I have watched people — the 
happy- looking people, you know — riding along in these 
hansoms, rushing on somewhere, bent on pleasure to- 
gether, and I have wished for once to try it myself with 
some one — I mean — as 9 ’ — She broke off, confused. “And 
here I am,” she added, with an effort at being matter-of- 
fact. “ I am sure no drive could be nicer.” 

“ Humph ! And the other V 9 He was still watching her 
narrowly, although the girl’s eyes were away on the green 
sward and the duskily-lighted flower-beds before and 
around them. “ What was that?” 

“ To be on a boat like the Dolores, and to sail away and 
away and away, just as we liked ; just as the idle fancy of 
the moment took us, until sea and sky and moon and stars 
seemed our own — just only for us. Then to come calmly, 
happily back to the world and life again, but with the 
memory of it forever in our hearts and eyes.” 

She had used the plural, with what complete uncon- 
sciousness Fenton best could tell, since to question the 
innocence of all intention in the soft, delicious look that 
shone upon her face, in her eyes as she raised them to his, 
was impossible. But with it, forgetful for that moment of all 
but what appealed to him as a sudden bond between them 
too strong to be put aside, too powerful to resist, Fenton 
bent lower, and exclaimed in a voice shaken by his feel- 
ings, but deep and vibrating with intensity, “ Constance, 
look at me ! Am I mad to think this might be ours ! — 
that it could be if you would give me the right , my dearest, 
to make our whole lives such a journey ; to give me, my 
child, the right to guide that voyage!” 

Constance seemed suddenly to have come back to the 
reality of life. All that was before and around her swam 
in a mist before her eyes, and her very heart and senses, 
for one brief instant, cried out as if in actual physical 
pain. Fenton’s voice, his words, floated towards her, and 


“GIVE ME THE RIGHT!” 


341 


for a moment all else seemed dumb. A deathly faintness 
crept over her; the pallor of her face— the frightened, 
strange look in her eyes, turned at last in mute pleading 
towards him — chilled Fenton before she spoke. 

“ Oh, what are we saying!” she exclaimed. “Oh, will 
you not forgive me — and — oh, we must forget this at 
once! Am I mad? Oh, Mr. Fenton, where is my word! 
my honor ! my pledge /” 

She broke off and turned her face away, trying vainly 
to control the tears that rushed now from beneath her 
eyelids. 

And Fenton set his teeth together ; white to the lips, he 
told himself at last he did understand ! Some day, per- 
haps, away off In a future w T here the brief madness of this 
hour could be forgotten — be remembered only as a fleet- 
ing dream — he could think calmly of the mistake he had 
made, the folly which had led him into fancying he had 
read in a girl’s soft eyes, and from her careless words, a 
souls meaning. Meanwhile! Well, he was man enough, 
it could be hoped, not to make it harder for her — with 
her poor, tired nerves, her youth, her loneliness, all to 
make any struggle difficult — and to bring back his voice, 
his look, words and manner to the level of quiet, familiar, 
commonplace intercourse which should exist between two 
people obliged to meet, and who, for a few T brief moments, 
have turned aside from the more conventional channels 
of daily life. And now, was it not clearer than ever 
where duty lay and madness be forgotten? And Helen’s 
affection, her interest, all that she had but recently, at 
Albany, given him to understand might be his — did they 
not now appeal to him as something he might at last con- 
sider ? 

A slight refreshment, an almost silent return to the 
stationer’s dwelling on Fourth Avenue, and that drive 
was ended. Fenton, after seeing Constance with every 
courtesy safely within the doorway, dismissed the cab 


342 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


and walked rapidly away to the rooms on Fifteenth Street 
placed at his disposal. Every nerve was strained, every 
energy roused. His dream was over. Why had he been 
fool enough to consider it even for an instant? What 
madness dogged his heels and clouded his brain of late? 
And as he let himself into the house and sought the room 
reserved to him, where he flung himself in the darkness 
upon a lounge, he went over the details of his last inter- 
view with Helen, which had been the most trying in his 
whole experience, yet now left him with a duty to consider; 
for Helen, roused to a strange condition of mind by feel- 
ing herself in danger of being misunderstood by Fenton, 
had almost in words confessed herself waiting for him to 
say that he loved her. The excuse had been her belief that 
their inequality of fortune held him back, and she had re- 
solved a mere form, a few words unspoken, should never 
wreck his — their — lives. And Fenton had contrived, dread- 
ing to wound, to seem to misunderstand her. But now, why 
should he reject what clearly she considered his by right? 
Why not, in a totally new sphere of thought and action — 
if not of affection, duty should take its place — begin a life 
of work, philanthrophy, and the happiness of seeing his 
fair cousin content — the satisfaction of living down into 
forgetfulness the one brief hour of madness, of ecstatic 
folly, he had ever known ? And Constance, to whomsoever 
she had given that “ pledge” — certain it was in time she 
would forget that he had ever disturbed her by his sudden 
wooing. And she would be happy, she must be. Yet who 
or where was this lover, idling away from her, daring to 
leave her so unprotected, so utterly without family ties 
or associations? Fenton was well aware that he knew 
nothing of him, eager to believe he wished him well, and 
then suddenly it crossed his mind to wonder if it might 
not be Droy — Martin Droy himself! The thought recurred 
with assurance. Nothing more probable, more likely. 
The association between them was of old enough stand- 


ANOTHER “DAYBREAK.” 


343 


ing, the bond a business and friendly one. Droy was 
bound to make bis mark. He would in time place bis 
wife in a position far superior, from a financial point of 
view, than it was likely Fenton could do. 

Late into the night Fenton reviewed the situation, de- 
ciding that whatever there might be of “ folly ” in it 
should be ended at once. 


CHAPTER LXXVII. 

ANOTHER “DAYBREAK.” 

Since no actual danger menaced their patient, Constance 
could not but feel that the need of self-control in the duties 
of the sick-room afforded her a welcome relief of mind. 
Her duty to Miss Armitage, she was sure, as well as to 
Fenton and herself, lay in her at once seeking a release 
from her position as Helen’s companion. Constance made 
no effort during all of the short, yet seemingly long, sum- 
mer night to sleep. She and Kate Brumage shared the 
smaller room adjoining the parlor in which Miss Jervis 
lay, her mother sleeping on a lounge-bed in the third 
room, the nurse dozing in an easy-chair by the window, 
and Constance, while her companion slumbered, sat in her 
window looking out upon the quiet street under the star- 
lit heavens, her whole heart and soul wrought and fusing, 
as it were, together, while she battled with herself, prayed 
to God to aid her in putting out of heart and brain all 
thought of the happiness she had rejected, while she 
tried, even in a confused manner, to form some plan of 
action. 

She must write to Mrs. Ord, who was far away with her 
nieces. Then would it not be wisest to let Miss Armitage 
know before her return of her companion’s desire for re- 


344 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


lease ? Browning had told her that the Colemans talked 
seriously of breaking up the Amblesworth home. In what- 
ever new venture they made, might she not for a time join 
them? Whether plans made in the hours of darkness 
are fruitful or not, at least they free the mind from 
thoughts which burden and dismay by suggesting possi- 
bilities of escape from care and freedom from indecision ; 
so, if daylight found Constance wearied by her vigil, it 
had at least served one purpose, and she was able to face 
the dawning of another day with that forlorn sort of 
courage which, rising in despair, gathers form and sub- 
stance from high-minded self-persuasion — resolve not to 
let the merely personal side of life outweigh its useful- 
ness. She knew that friends, loving and tender, remained 
to her. Her father still lived and might need her; and 
she had, as she was gratefully aware, w T on a new and ten- 
der little comrade in Kate Brumage. Surely there were 
distinct elements of encouragement in life ; many girls 
w r ere battling with severer trials, facing dread of actual 
shipwreck or disaster, with less to console. She recalled 
her interview with the Polish-American girl, the fires of 
whose enthusiasm for her “ cause” burned still in eyes 
sunken by physical pain as well as starvation ; thought 
of the way in which she had at first shrank from any- 
thing approaching confidence, at last reluctantly given 
her, enough to show how gaunt had been the spectre 
striding within the humble doorways of homes like her 
own, where only toil and want and suffering were com- 
rades; only scorn and oppression guests! And Moseley's, 
the place she had meant to urge Helen to rebuild! What 
a history lay within its walls! Surely, with all of these 
experiences crowding the page of her young life’s story, 
need she, dared she sit down idle, to moan over her own 
lost or buried treasure? “God forbid!” murmured Con- 
stance, dashing away the last tears of self-pity ; “ at least I 
know now what I have left to me in life. I know that, once 


ANOTHER “DAYBREAK” 


345 


and for all, that must be shut out from it forever ! Need 
it cripple — tie me down?” 

No need to “ seek for stones ” to build the edifice of her 
young life anew. They lay, as it were, crowding her gate- 
way, and in each was strength, courage, and if self-repres- 
sion, as surely the very highest kind of satisfaction ; since, 
if the gain was material to those for whom she builded, 
was it not spiritual and mental as well for herself, the in- 
strument, the humble mechanic of the Lord ? Con- 
stance felt, as she sat there watching first a sleeping, 
icaiting world, upon which the starlight seemed to send 
down a sort of benediction, respite from toil and the 
heat and burden of the day, then the soft flush of the 
summer’s dawn, the first awakening of human forces and 
arousing of human will and enterprise, as if that one 
night had changed all the currents of her being ; that this 
was no longer the world she had seen and known but yes- 
terday ; this no longer the debating ground of youth, of 
inexperience, or fond belief in her own human need being 
all-powerful, her own human heart all worthy of response 
and joy. No ; rather was it an arena into which she seemed 
to see that we are all born to go forth sooner or later, be 
we well or ill-equipped for our battle, each one bound by 
the laws of God and nature, by virtue of his own human- 
ity and God’s mission for every human soul to take and 
bear his part, to do what was assigned with an undivided, 
heart-w r hole and pure allegiance — a loyalty the nobler 
since there has been asked of the soul that pathetic yet 
uplifting question : “Art thou thine own? Darest thou 
forget that thy brother lives — and needs thee ?” 


346 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


CHAPTER LXXVIII. 

“we are orphans.” 

The emergencies of thought are assuredly no less effec- 
tive in their results than those requiring instantaneous 
action, and as a consequence of her vigil, when, after 
an hour’s rest, Constance was awakened by a quick knock 
at her door and to see Miss Brumage with a telegram in her 
hand, there was less of a shock in such an announcement 
as it contained than she w’ould otherwise have felt; for 
every nerve had been strained to its highest point of en- 
durance — emotion seemed almost to have spent itself 
within her; but she was grieved and alarmed as she read: 
“ Come at once . Father very ill. Clare Coleman 

“ Kate — dear Kate !” exclaimed Constance, handing her 
the yellow sheet, “ there is no time to lose. I must send 
for some one — Mr. Browning, or Mr. Fenton !” 

She w T as making a rapid toilette even as she spoke, and 
glad to find that Miss Brumage’s quick self-possession had 
delayed the messenger-boy, who was soon on his way to 
Mr. Palisley’s rooms with a brief line to Fenton. 

u The telegram I inclose explains itself” wrote Constance. 
u Will you come over and advise me ?” 

No needless alarm was given the Jervises, although 
Rowena, who was wide awake, being aware that something 
unusual was going forward, insisted upon Constance taking 
her coffee near her and unfolding her plans, or rather 
saying that she “ must go at once ” and allow the active- 
minded Rowena to arrange the rest. 

u My dear,” said that high-strung philanthropist, “ I 
don’t mean to forget or to lose sight of you in a hurry, and 
you must report to me at once wdien you get home ; and if 
it’s any comfort to you, you shall know that I mean to 


“WE ARE ORPHANS.” 


347 


keep that dear little soft-hearted thing, Kate Brumage, 
with me. I’ll make good use of her, and she shall be 
happy !” 

Constance, who had gradually seen the finer side of Ro- 
wena Jervis revealed, could only press her hand more 
warmly and thank her with all sincerity, returning her ex- 
pressions of friendly interest, begging of the girl not to 
over-excite or fatigue herself, and reminding her that 
Lottie Pervilsky must not be forgotten. 

Miss Jervis smiled shrewdly. 

“ Don’t you fret!” she said, w T ith a gleam in her dark 
eyes and a quick brightening of her whole face. “ Trust 
Joe Trapmen to do as I tell him in that quarter. Joe ain’t 
much to look at, I’ll admit, but he’s a heart big enough 
for three men, I can tell you.” 

Constance was dressed for departure when Fenton, him- 
self paler than usual, but composed in manner, appeared. 
He understood at once that there was no time to lose and 
offered to be her escort to Amblesworth ; but while, for an 
instant, she keenly welcomed the idea, Constance re- 
minded him that his cousin would be expecting him in Al- 
bany. 

“I will send to Browning. Oh!” — he half smiled — 
“ don’t fear it will be any trouble to him in one way to 
serve your friend. I presume he will go right on there. You 
will write at once, of course, and I will explain to Helen.” 

Constance, if anxious and still bewildered, felt the com- 
fort of Fenton’s presence, his faculty for arranging every- 
thing, and an hour later he was once more at her side in 
a cab, whirling away speedily to the noon train, not one 
word or reference to anything which had taken place dur- 
ing their last journey occurring to make her uncomfort- 
able; while the very wa} r in which he said, on parting, 
“You will write me at once, of course; let me know 
what Browning or I can do,” implied a sort of proprietor- 
ship at leas»t in her friendship which gave her courage. 


348 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


Yet there was an inexplicable, intangible weight of sad- 
ness, wholly independent from the grief she feared to 
meet at Amblesworth, hanging over and weighing her 
down. Constance began to wonder if so unusual a thing 
for her as illness might not be approaching? Her nerves 
were anything but steady, her eyeballs burning from the 
pressure of tears she could not shed ; and yet she could 
not but recall the look deepening in Fenton’s dark eyes, 
the peculiar cadence of his voice, as though there should 
be solace in the recollection. 

Amblesworth was reached at last. It was nearly five 
o’clock when Constance found herself once more on the 
familiar platform, and in another moment the only mem- 
ber of the family who was a stranger to her — Homer Cole- 
man — was at her side. He was a tall, well-built, very 
commonplace-looking young man, judged by a casual sur- 
vey ; but w 7 hen he spoke, something of the same sweetness 
of expression which was one of Clare’s great charms 
lighted his brown eyes and took the heaviness out of his 
face ; and that he was very efficient and kindly was seen 
at once in the way he welcomed Constance, introducing 
himself, taking her bag and wraps, making her comfortable 
in the little pony-carriage, etc., while directly the reins 
were in his hands he said, in a voice full of feeling yet by 
no means excited : 

“ My poor father is no better. He moves a little and 
tries to speak, but they give us no hope. He has men- 
tioned your name repeatedly; indeed, I am sure, Miss 
Reade, there is some special reason for it.” 

“What can it be,” exclaimed Constance, anxiously, “un- 
less it is that he was thinking of me when he was taken ill.” 

“Do you know of anything called Nepomonset ? Twice 
over, last night, he mentioned that name.” 

Constance repeated it slowly and thoughtfully. 

“I have heard it,” she said, “ but where or how I cannot 
now remember. But it may come back.” 


“WE ARE ORPHANS. 


349 


“Very likely; and when he sees you, he may say more.” 

They were at the gate now. A moment later and Con- 
stance was enfolded in Clare’s embrace. Neither spoke, 
but as Clare led the way into the dining-room she said in 
a low tone to Homer: 

“ I think he understands. I told him Constance was 
coming, and he smiled. He seems better.” 

Directly she had taken a glass of sherry and eaten a 
biscuit, which Homer insisted upon, Constance followed 
him upstairs into the doctor’s room. A trained nurse rose 
as they entered, acknowledged the introduction to Miss 
Reade as she might have done some happy messenger 
of fate, for she, like the rest, hoped for something definitely 
good when the young girl the Doctor asked for was with 
him, and then suggested leaving him alone with young Mr. 
Coleman and the patient. For five minutes Constance 
sat holding the Doctor’s hand, now and again speaking his 
name in tones of gentlest but most urgent entreaty, Ho- 
mer watching from the foot of the bed for any sign of 
consciousness. 

And it came at last. Constance had just murmured 
“Doctor Coleman, it is Constance Reade; I have come 
to see you,” when his eyelids fluttered; he raised them, 
looked at her with deep, mournful intensity, and said, in 
a labored, strained voice : 

“ Larry — letter — Nepomonset — yes — you should have 
come.” There was another pause. Again he repeated 
“Larry’s letter — the Nepomonset,” and, with the words 
uttered faintly but distinctly, closed his eyes, and to all 
outward seeming slept. 

Whatever it might be that the good Doctor had to say, 
it was clearly evident now that a letter from Larry had 
suggested it, and the frequent mention of the “ Nepomon- 
set” in connection with it suggested business which 
Larry might have written about and of which they would 
doubtless later hear details. 


350 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


But having seen her, having spoken thus much, ended 
all effort, all apparent disquiet in the mind of the dying 
man. Now and again, at brief intervals, the watchers 
relieved each other. For a little while, in Clare’s room, 
Constance, worn out by her vigil of the night before, slept 
heavily, awakened at four o’clock by finding Clare at her 
side. 

“Come!” the poor girl whispered. “Constance, help 
me. It is nearly over.” 

And almost as they reached the Doctor’s bedside he 
turned, looked at them both, his glance resting with deep 
intensity upon Constance, murmured something which 
Homer later told them was his mother’s name, and with 
one half-fluttering sigh the soul escaped its bondage. 

The doctors, Homer, the quiet nurse, turned instinct- 
ively to lead Clare and Constance from the room. It was 
“ all over ” — the earthly part of life, at least. Constance 
realized what her friend was feeling, what bitterness of 
grief lay in the words she murmured in her ear : 

“ Oh, Constance, dearest, we are desolate indeed ! We 
are orphans!” 


CHAPTER LXXIX. 
larry’s letter. 

Fenton was better than his word. He wrote Constance 
late that night, and arranged, without hearing from her, for 
Norman Browning to proceed to Amblesworth at once, so 
that a few hours after the receipt of his brief but welcome 
letter young Browning made his appearance. 

Constance had been sitting with Clare until she had 
seen her fall into a quiet sleep, and was slowly pacing the 
garden walks when Mr. Browning was announced. But 


LARRY’S LETTER. 


351 


he came directly onto the lawn. They held a whispered 
consultation, after which she went away to summon 
Homer, who was just starting for the telegraph office, 
desiring to attend in person to a dispatch to Larry. The 
young men met with grave cordiality, and Constance 
could not help being impressed by a certain similarity 
of type between them, although clearly young Browning 
was the stronger, intellectually, of the two ; but both were 
men of practical aims and definite occupation as well as 
ideas of every-day life, which, if they did not, as in Ho- 
mer’s case, include an ambition to “ o’ertop ” their fel- 
lows in the race for collegiate honors, certainly produced 
an energy in pursuit of the “ staff of life ” which would 
possibly do more for themselves and their fellow-men 
than the Chancellor’s prize for the best ode in the most 
Olympian Greek. 

While they talked Constance stole away to look in 
upon Clare, whom she found wide awake and evidently 
glad to hear of Browning’s arrival — also greatly pleased 
that he and Homer had “ taken to” each other. For 
Homer, Clare was jealous as a mother is of a child not 
cared for or appreciated by its livelier companions or kin- 
dred, and nothing ever pleased her better than to find his 
really good qualities understood. Constance did her 
very best, it is true, yet she did not, could not, quite 
silence a feeling in the recess of her dear friend’s heart 
that she did not subscribe fully to her idea of her 
brother’s excellence. But the fact was that hypersensi- 
tiveness on certain points was a fault with Constance. 
She could forgive anything more readily than narrow- 
ness, excuse anything in a man better than a limited way 
of looking at every-day details, and Homer betrayed both 
of these inexcusable faults. 

“ I did not tell you, dear, I was so tired,” said Clare, 
“that I found Larry’s last letter.” She drew it from her 
pocket. “I did not even mention it to Homer. You 


352 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


will see, when you read it, why my dear father kept re- 
ferring to you and to Larry, and that Nepomonset. 
There” — she handed Constance the letter — 44 read it while 
I go out to the garden.” 

Slowly, carefully, and very anxiously Constance read 
and re-read the letter. One page of it was missing. That 
which remained began with her name. 

u Constance ought to find out, from Colestoun, perhaps, all about 
this Nepomonset Mine affair, for her father's name is certainly 
in some way connected with hers in it. Tell her not to do any- 
thing in a hurry — above all to wait until she hears from me again; 
but if, meantime, you hear any more, my dear father , about 
it, write me as f reely as you have done, and I will do my best to 
get at what seems a trifle doubtful or mysterious now. But , 
above all things, tell her, from me, she must not venture to men- 
tion it to a living being until she hears from me. I consider her 
word pledged in advance .” 

Constance, as I have said, read and re-read the words, 
pondering deeply as to their possible, probable significance. 
The Nepomonset, she remembered now, was a mine — 
one in which her father was joint if not sole proprietor; 
and dimly — how, or where, or when, she could not re- 
member — she felt there was an association of her own 
name with its purchase ; but it was more than likely this 
was only in connection with naming it, since she now 
clearly recalled her father’s saying “There’s a mine I’m 
looking at I’d name after you, only, someway, the 4 Com 
stance’ doesn’t sound appropriate.” 

And Larry’s injunction pledged her to silence — pre- 
vented her taking counsel, anyway, until his next letter 
reached them! Well, they could only wait. Meanwhile 
she must turn all her thoughts to her friends and their trou- 
ble. Clare had already half-expressed what were her fears, 
that they were left sadly unprovided for. Amblesworth 
was mortgaged, and what remained besides, the chances 
were, would be a sum yielding a merely nominal income. 


A GENERAL “BO ULEVERSEMENT” 


353 


CHAPTER LXXX. 

A GENERAL ‘‘bOULEVERSEMENT.” 

“ There ! It is Constance Reade herself!” 

Rowena Jervis drew back from the window of the room 
in which she was now convalescing; her eyes turned 
eagerly towards the door which opened a moment later 
to admit Constance in tra velling garb, her face, if a trifle 
worn and pale from recent experiences, none the less wel- 
come to Mrs. Brooks’s lodgers, while the other occupants 
of the room, Kate Brumage and Mrs. Jervis, looked equally 
pleased, all joining in cordial greetings and kindly in- 
quiries for the bereaved household she had left. 

“ Oh, yes, it was hard to come,” Con explained, as she 
allowed little Kate to remove her hat and jacket and bring 
the cup of tea freshly made; “ but you see, even they are 
to make a change at once, and I have to see Miss Armi- 
tage as soon as possible.” 

Rowena sniffed. 

“H’m — I thought as much!” she said, very signifi- 
cantly. 

Constance laughed. 

“ Do you mean I am anxious to renew my severe and 
exhausting labors at Fernhills?”she said, the smile slowly 
fading from her face; “oh, no — I — well, I must go and 
give your cousin notice.” 

“ What ! M Rowena sat upright and looked at Constance 
with her shrewd, wide-eyed gaze, for an instant in silence. 
“ Do you mean — ” 

“ I mean just as I say — I am thinking, as Mary Anne 
would put it, of leaving my situation. To tell you the 
truth, Fernhills merely encourages me in idleness ; besides, 
I am going into business !” 


23 


354 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“Well, upon my word, Miss Read e!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Jervis. “ This is news ! Well, well ! What kind ? I do 
declare !” The older lady was keenly interested; and, 
indeed, there was no lack of sympathy shown by any of 
her listeners while Constance unfolded a plan which the 
financial condition of the Amblesworth family, as well as 
the advice of certain friends, had suggested and made 
practical. 

The idea was to let the Doctor’s house and garden to a 
florist, who had long had his eye on the property, at a very 
low rent, in consideration of his starting them in business 
— floral, of course — in New York. Homer was wonderfully 
practical in spite of his dulness on subjects which were 
so dear to Con’s soul. He quite approved, and was ready 
to lend the protection of his presence when at home, and 
his assistance, if necessary. He hadn’t the smallest 
qualms of pride for himself or his sister in the matter. 
He had already seen the shop and dwelling-house at- 
tached, in which they were to keep one floor and rent the 
other, while all that remained was to conclude the arrange- 
ment, inspect the stock and take possession. 

“ Clare will bring her old servant Hannah down to-mor- 
row,” Constance went on, “ and Mr. Thomas, the florist, is 
very anxious for us to start in at once. I, you see, mean 
to join my fortunes to theirs. But, first of all, I must 
give Miss Armitage due notice, and ’’ — her voice saddened 
— “ let Mrs. Reade know of the change. They cannot ob- 
ject,” she added, bitterly ; “ the chances are they will not 
even care /” 

Two of Con's listeners exchanged rapid glances before 
Rowena, clearing her throat a trifle, nervously said: 

“ My dear, we have been occupied ourselves since you 
left, and thought a great deal about you as well. Ma — ” 
she suddenly grew embarrassed — “ I’d leave you to tell, 
only you’d never come to the point! It’s just this: 
Joe Trapmen and I’ve decided we may as well join forces 


A GENERAL “BO ULEVERSEMENT” 


355 


— that is, we're engaged — and as Joe has considerable to 
think of, one way and the other, and would like to be set- 
tled down, we’re going to be married as soon as ever I can 
get ready and am well enough ! Now, then !” 

Constance could but congratulate the bride-elect, and to 
do that clear-headed young woman justice she received 
her friend’s expressions of good-will without a trace of 
embarrassment; rather a smiling satisfaction in proving 
herself and her jiancl people of such thorough common 
sense. 

“And you see,” she continued, “ what we were thinking 
was whether you couldn’t take care of or be company for 
Ma? Joe and I may have to do a great deal of travelling 
around, and Ma doesn’t want to go West anyway until 
next spring. How would it do if Ma was your friend’s 
lodger! See here! There's an idea! Suppose Ma and 
Miss Brumage, who’s going to help Joe writing, and all that 
kind of thing, and you take the floor over your friend’s 
store ? Then, don’t you see, Ma ’d have you to be with her 
at times, and yet you could be at the flowers, too. I sup- 
pose you’ll be taking charge of bouquets for the boys’ but- 
tonholes.” 

Constance laughed. 

“Hardly! Unless to prepare a selection for sale: but 
even that is not likely; and really," she continued, “I 
don’t see why your plan would not be feasible in every 
way ! What will your cousin say ?” she added, smiling. 

“Who? Helen? Well, I guess I’ve lived twenty-three 
years without consulting her, and with Joe to back me I 
may hold out a few months longer! Oh, no, my dear ! If 
I have Ma’s consent, I don’t care for anything else. And 
you see, if it’s all as you say, the sooner you and your 
friends move the better, so that we can have a place of our 
own for the wedding. I did feel sorry to think it would 
take place up to Joe’s — looks so forlorn for a girl, you 
know.” 


356 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


Grateful and pleased as our heroine could not fail to be, 
she could not help a certain anxiety as to how this sudden 
bouleversement would be taken by Miss Armitage. It was 
her duty to go back to Fernhills at once — to discuss the 
whole affair with its mistress — to give her the chance, at 
least, of expressing an opinion ; but Constance could not 
rid herself of a disheartening feeling that Miss Armitage 
would place no obstacle in the way of her departure. In- 
stinct with the young girl was keen as knowledge with 
many others, and it made her feel that any sentiment in 
leaving Fernhills— so far its mistress was concerned — was 
out of place. 


CHAPTER LXXXI. 

A BREAK. 

Helen Armitage would have found it difficult to ac- 
count for her frame of mind the Thursday afternoon Con- 
stance was on her way to Fernhills. True, there were vari- 
ous causes of disquiet, some few of positive anxiety, and one 
at least of pleasurable anticipation, social triumph, and the 
gratification of that peculiar kind of pride which Fenton 
despised in her, she well knew, yet which was part and 
parcel of her very being. The day was one which, antic- 
ipating the legitimate chill of autumn, touched all the 
country with a brooding kind of melancholy, which com- 
municated itself to the spirit almost imperceptibly ; yet 
Helen, as she paced slowly up and down the garden-paths, 
was engrossed by thoughts which were in nowise affected 
by the weather or her surroundings. For the first time in 
her life she had begun to realize the im potency of all at 
her command to shape her destiny as she would have it; 
she had been driven to a doubt of herself— to see that 


A BREAK 


357 


love and popularity, work and success in life, are largely 
dependent upon that intangible something in the soul of 
man which comes from higher qualities than those which 
perhaps she herself possessed, and that the power of the 
human heart over our fellow-beings is not to be gauged 
by its power to suffer ; that pride can be wounded, self- 
love hurt, twenty times a day, even though we “walk in 
silk attire and siller hae to spare.” 

Money, or wealth, the possession of broad acres and 
many thousands, youth, fairness of person, a list of 
“ friends ” too long to remember — all these had the heiress 
of Fernhills ; and yet , was not her lack , or did it not at that 
moment seem to her to be so vast that a whole universe 
could never fill the void it had created ? 

Helen seated herself on one of the stone benches which 
were placed at intervals along the cliff back of the garden, 
and leaning her cheek against her hand, looked out at the 
grayly-tinted water, recalling, bit by bit, every incident 
of her recent visit to Albany; of the two days Fenton had 
spent there with her. The color flamed into her face. In- 
voluntarily she put up her hands to her face, uttering a 
quick, impatient, yet pained exclamation, and starting to 
her feet, stood holding her hands firmly locked together, 
eyes and lips, every line of her mobile face, set into a 
strange, chilling severity, while involuntarily the words 
“ How dared he 1” escaped from her lips. The very land- 
scape seemed for a moment blurred before her eyes. She 
sank back upon the stone seat, throbbing with the pain- 
ful, intolerable recollection of what had occurred, wonder- 
ing how what she had there set in train would end. 

A movement back of the hedge-row startled her, and 
Keon, Constance Reade’s dog, bounded towards her. A 
moment later she beheld his mistress approaching also. 
For two days past Helen had been wondering hoio she had 
best meet her secretary — how manage to dissolve their 
partnership, for it had grown irksome, almost intolerable, 


358 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL , 


to her now ; yet to dismiss Constance as one might a use- 
less servant, indeed to suggest her leaving for no special 
reason, seemed to the young girl a proceeding no code of 
etiquette nor rule of ordinary equity would justify. Yet 
part they must. Even Mrs. Penwick, who’had called the 
day before, considered it most “ unadvisable ” for her to 
have a girl as “ indifferent to public opinion ” as Miss 
Reade in her employ, although precisely in what this in- 
difference consisted the lady would have found it difficult 
to say. But Mrs. Penwick’s advice had but acted as a 
spur to her own desire, and Helen acquiesced so readily 
that the rector's w r ife felt at liberty, on leaving Fernhills 
for the next house on her list, to express it as her opinion 
that “ Miss Armitage’s eyes were opened at last to that de- 
signing girl, Miss Reade — an amiable suggestion which, 
although in a polite way, went the rounds of Upper and 
Lower Gelston, keeping clear, for some reason, of Garvery 
and its hot-headed, although generally composed, master. 

“ Miss Reade 1” Helen smiled, forcing a certain civility 
into her manner, as she held out her hand to Constance, 
who returned the greeting very quietly, her searching 
glance at once detecting that the little “ rift ” had widened, 
not drawn together. u Why did you not send word you 
were coming ? M continued Helen, who tried vainly to keep 
all signs of her feeling from voice or face. “ Is it possible 
you walked up ?” 

They were moving back to the house, Keon jealously 
dogging his mistress’s footsteps, and Constance said, with 
her flitting smile : 

“ That was no hardship such a day, and I did not send 
you word of my train, as I could not be sure of it.” 

They stood a moment in silence on the veranda. Then, 
as Helen led the way into the house, Constance forced 
herself to plunge at once into the subject uppermost in 
both their minds. 

“ Miss Armitage,” she said, gravely and gently, “ I feel 


A BREAK ; 


359 


sure you will not miss me if I leave you altogether now. 
I thought it best to speak , not write r of any change. I am, 
I feel sure, of no real advantage to you, and I can be to 
my friends from Ambles worth, as well as, perhaps, even to 
the Jervises. Clare Coleman is coming down with her 
brother to start a flower-store in New York, and I intend 
to link my fortunes with them, if — ” she smiled, half- 
quizzically — u you will release me.” 

“ I release you !” Now that Constance had taken the 
initiative, Helen felt a right to be affronted or injured. 
“ It seems to me, Miss Reade, in my opinion a release , as 
you call it, has nothing to do with it. Mrs. Jervis wrote 
me she meant to remain in New York. After that dis- 
graceful sensational scene at a public meeting I should 
think she would have made all haste home.” 

Constance flushed. “ No one was disgraced ,” she said, 
coldty ; “ and I don’t see, myself, that it was any more 
sensational than a great many society affairs. It had a 
definite object, at least. However, that is neither here nor 
there.” She laughed brightly. “ Don’t fancy I am going 
to do anything rash, even though I have agreed to act 
occasionally as Miss Jervis’s secretary. My work will be 
the intensely feminine and delicate one of floriculture 
and bouquet-making— if I can learn the art.” 

Helen’s brows drew together with the same look of per- 
plexity Constance so often occasioned, but she could only 
say, “Of course, Miss Reade, you must do as you like.” 
And then, as Constance went away to her former room, 
her employer, or, as she could better call her now, hostess, 
sent for Mrs. James and ordered some refreshment for the 
returned prodigal, conscious the while of a certain sense of 
defeat even in the genuine relief Constance’s plan afforded 
her. And it was clearly evident that her secretary had no 
personal regrets in quitting Fernhills ; nor did she even 
seem to give its luxuries, its many comforts, the slightest 
consideration. What was there about this girl that gave 


360 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


to her personality its power, its peculiar force and will, yet 
left it all the sweetness and fascination of girlish youth? 
The consciousness that both existed only seemed to harden 
Helen’s heart the more. Well! Let her have her own 
way. In a few weeks changes of deeper import in her 
life might occur, in view of which so slight a thing as 
the loss of her secretary would pale into complete insig- 
nificance. 

Constance meanwhile felt glad to be alone. The walk 
up from the train, secluded though the river road was at 
all times, had not been without its incident — one which 
had at first startled and almost frightened her, then thrown 
her into a frame of mind where duty, inclination, impulse, 
all seemed to war with each other. 


CHAPTER LXXXII. 

CARRIE TELLS HER STORY. 

Turning the first bend of the road, after leaving the 
village well behind her, Constance had heard her name 
spoken in a quick, nervous tone by a girl who pressed 
forward from her hiding-place back of some close shrub- 
bery, revealing a pale, pretty, tired young face, in which 
the dark eyes were curiously familiar, their owner saying, 
suddenly : 

“ Oh, Miss Reade ! Maybe you don’t know me — stop a 
minute ! I’m Carrie Elbright !” 

And Constance, dreading she knew not what, had 
stopped and listened in a half-dazed way to all the girl, 
however incoherently, had to tell her. She meant no 
harm — of this, shrink as she might from Carrie Elbright, 
Constance was certain from the first. She was burning, 
throbbing with a sense of her wrongs, and in telling their 


CARRIE TELLS HER STORY. 


361 


story she communicated much of the same feeling to her 
listener, who felt every nerve quivering with indignation 
and disgust ! 

A man and woman she knew well had seen Bertie Gib- 
bons and Genevieve on the morning of their marriage — 
had at a safe distance followed them — through the win- 
dow had seen the justice of the peace marry them in the 
little school-house. 

“Marne wouldn’t lie about it,” said Carrie Elbright, in 
a low, trembling voice. “ She and Johnny Merton looked 
in through the window and seen it all. And, oh, Miss 
Reade, whatever can I do ! What’ll I say to Pa now /” 

Constance was too bewildered at first to offer any ad- 
vice, but at last, knowing that no good could come of any 
sudden action, had persuaded the girl to do nothing rash. 
Gibbons, they knew, was not with Genevieve, but absent 
on business for himself and Fenton — the latter having 
concocted the employment, hoping thereby to keep his 
handsome, idle step-brother out of mischief until, his 
health restored, he could resume regular and more profit- 
able labor further West. But Carrie’s uncle had insisted 
upon her returning to Little Purchase ; she was to leave 
within a week’s time, and although Constance had secured 
her promise of temporary secrecy, she well knew it could 
not last long. 

Fenton should, ought to be told ! After parting with the 
girl, who was returning home, and with whom she sol- 
emnly bound herself to communicate later, Constance 
realized that this was — must be considered — an imperative 
duty ! But the main point now was to decide when, where 
and how to consult the man whom she had just been re- 
solving to avoid in every way for the future. 

“I dare not write to him,” reflected Constance; “but 
directly I am in New York I will contrive to see him. 
Heigh-ho ! A sad world we human beings try our best to 
make of the Eden given us.” 


362 


A GIBES OBBEAL. 


And then, still agitated, but forcing herself to compos- 
ure, Constance set about packing her belongings, rejoicing 
for the first time that her possessions were so few, and 
wondering whether a happy spirit of permanence would 
rest upon her next venture. There would be, of course, a 
home feeling wherever the Colemans were, but there was 
a large element of risk in their new undertaking ; it would 
ruin them to lose the small capital invested ; and so far as 
she was concerned, unless her labors with Mrs. Jervis 
amounted to something, she could scarcely hope to pay 
her way until she knew more of the “ business,” for to be 
a burden on the little household, no matter how welcome 
she might be, was by no means part of the young girl’s 
calculation. 

And in that great marble house up-town her father lay 
weak, and perhaps ill, yet surrounded by all that wealth 
could procure or suggestion devise. Surely the chances, 
the caprices of fate, were many and curious; yet Constance, 
as she locked her trunk and took a last survey of the 
richly appointed room, with its many luxuries, which for 
a few months — or weeks — had represented home to her, 
could not bring herself to feel one pang of regret over the 
exchange she was making, even though it be a life of toil 
and actual privation that awaited her. 

“ No,” was Constance’s final reflection. “ Lovely, de- 
lightful as life could be at Fernhills, it lacked what I, 
above all others, need — the necessity for activity and em- 
ployment of my best faculties in a way which gives growth 
to one’s soul; here my soul would have shrunk away un- 
til I forgot all that I owed it ! I am not strong enough to 
bear such a life.” 


“ YOU SPEAK OF US AS 1 THESE PEOPLE /’ ” 363 


CHAPTER LXXXIII. 

“you speak of us as ‘these people’!” 

Never had the long dinner seemed more of an ordeal 
than on this evening when both Miss Armitage and Con- 
stance were suffering from the peculiar constraint which 
was inevitable, since the one felt she had not been treated 
with sufficient consideration (was it that perhaps uncon- 
sciously Helen’s affections were wounded?) and the other 
knew herself to be in semi-disgrace. Miss Armitage had 
the peculiar faculty, belonging to some natures, of making 
it appear as though all things around and about her owed 
her tribute ; involuntarily this was paid, and whatever 
constituted a lack of it was unpardonable and at once af- 
fected the entire social atmosphere. 

“ By the way, Miss Reade,” she observed as they left the 
table, “you remember Moseley’s? I have directed my 
agent to look into it, and if he sees the property is worth 
anything, or could be made anything of, he may rebuild 
it. My cousin told me more, even, than you did.” 

She smiled — a faint, barely perceptible tinge of scorn in 
her voice recalled the occasion of their last meeting — and 
Constance made haste to say : 

“ It would be impossible to exaggerate the condition of 
everything down there. It made one long for money, as 
without even a great deal of expenditure nothing could 
possibly be done. It was one of the most hopeless places 
otherwise.” 

“ And — this new venture of yours,” pursued Helen, still 
in a voice touched with something almost like amusement, 
as though such Utopian projects seemed to her the merest 
folly. “ May I ask any details ?” 

“ Certainly !” Con smiled, but looked ready to meet the 


364 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


girl on her own ground, and yet hold her own. They were 
in the library by this time, where Helen flung herself lan- 
guidly into a deep chair, moving a large fan slowly in her 
hands, while Constance, for whom this room held some 
charmed memories, sat more in shadow. “ It is all very 
simple,” she continued, “ and I can only hope it will suc- 
ceed. You know the gardens at Amblesworth were quite 
famous; the Doctor and Clare were really noted florists. 
Well, a man named Thomas has rented the whole place 
with a view to the production of special plants, and in 
part exchange we have taken his house and store in town 
as a speculation, I suppose one might call it. I say we” 
corrected Constance, “ but I have only my time and ser- 
vices to offer ; and your friends, the Jervises, have rented 
one floor, and I have promised to act as a sort of— well, 
companion, or perhaps housekeeper, part of the time, to 
Mrs. Jervis ; so I will pay my -way and no doubt lay by a 
little. If Clare gives up her time to the store she would 
need some one, you see, in the house. Then we have old 
Hannah, from their home, who thinks that they could 
never live without her. With a small girl to answer the 
bell, I fancy our establishment will be complete.” 

Miss Armitage was silent for a moment ; then she said 
in a peculiar tone, half-surprise, half-contempt : 

“And to do this you would leave Fernhills !” 

“ It means a home,” answered Constance quickly, “ and 
independence.” 

“ But here — ” 

“ Do not misunderstand me,” exclaimed her compan- 
ion, well aware of what was in Helen’s mind ; “ I fully 
appreciate all the luxuries of such a life as I could lead 
here, but believe me it w T as a very useless kind of an exist- 
ence! You will easily And a dozen girls fitter than I 
would ever be for the place ! No danger of not doing so! 
You will have some soft, purring, contented little piece 
of girlishness about you, I dare say, within a month, who 


“ YO U SPEAK OF US AS 1 THESE PEOPLE P ” 365 


will think herself in the seventh heaven of bliss and be 
afraid every moment she may lose her Paradise ! And 
you will like her a thousand times better than you ever 
could me ! She will never contradict or advise, or even 
suggest anything you would not like — 99 

As Constance broke off, smiling, Helen said, with a pecu- 
liar look in her eyes : 

“ Nor keep any secrets from me?” 

Her companion flushed for an instant, but answered, 
with entire composure : 

“ Nor have any secrets from you ! It will all be easy 
sailing on both sides ! I am too hot-headed, I fear, for the 
part.” 

They were silent, Helen neither rejecting nor acquiescing 
in the idea of this exceedingly amiable imaginary com- 
panion, and at last she said : 

“ I shall close the school ! Miss Brumage has defected 
as well ! It is always the way with these kind of people ! 
You do everything for them, and the moment you really 
need them they are ready to, as they call it, ‘ better them- 
selves.’ ” 

Well aware that she was, in Helen Armitage’s mind, 
one of the same class, Constance for an instant was 
tempted to allow her feelings to silence any answer, but 
the argument in her own favor proved irresistible, and she 
said, with unusual spirit: 

“Miss Armitage, are you not mistaken? You speak 
of us as these people , and as though your part of the bargain 
included the sacrifice of all our independence. Has it 
never occurred to you that we are working as distinctly 
on a business basis as you are? — that there is — can be — no 
possible question of favor on either side? When you go 
into a shop and buy certain goods at a fixed value, you 
do not expect that shopman to pledge himself to sell to 
you, and you only, forever after. You engaged Miss 
Brumage to conduct your kindergarten. She performed 


366 


A GIBUS OBDEAL. 


her duties faithfully and well. You never, I believe, gave 
her anything but her salary ; I mean you showed her no 
personal or special kindness. She was simply hired for 
a certain task, which she performed faithfully and well. 
But now a better chance offers — a home — work she can do 
well and with larger profit. Her defection, as you call it, 
is merely like any business resignation of a position the 
holder no longer cares to occupy. There never was the 
shadow of a personal bond or personal obligation.” 

She paused, and Helen, who had at least listened atten- 
tively, said coldly : 

“And in your case?” 

“ I was of no particular service. I could not be happy 
merely as a human machine, whose works were set in 
motion for this and that occasion — I could not even help 
you !” 

Their eyes met, and Helen involuntarily colored, while 
Constance went on : 

“ It was an artificial life — for me, at least. My best ener- 
gies were warped, yet, with no sarcastic intent — please 
believe that — it would be an ideal home for just such a 
girl as I described to you.” 

“ Well, there is nothing further, I suppose, to be said.” 

Helen rose, as though to end the interview. She wished 
that her very high-spirited companion would at least have 
expressed some regrets at parting, and was compelled to 
accept, in place of the tearful adieu which would have 
pleased her vanity, Constance’s warm hand-pressure, in- 
vitation to her to visit them in their new abode, and a 
general expression of good-will and good hopes for her 
future. Miss Readers good-byes to Mrs. James and the 
servants, even, were more demonstrative, and it was clear 
that the kitchen cabinet regretted her loss. Helen, after 
seeing her quondam “ companion” driven away, went 
back to her own room thoroughly unhinged and anno} r ed. 
For the second time in her life she had wanted what was 


A NEW DEPARTURE . 


367 


beyond her reach, and it was beginning to occur to her, 
however vaguely, that after all, with all her wealth, beauty 
and high station, something within herself might, must be 
lacking. 


CHAPTER LXXXIV. 

A NEW DEPARTURE. 

With Keon at her side, and very much excited by his 
journey, Constance reached Forty-second Street by four 
o’clock the same afternoon, tired and a trifle unnerved, 
especially when she thought of Carrie Elbright and their 
mutual promise, yet eager for the welcome she well knew 
would await her from Kate Brumage, at least. Nor was 
she disappointed. That tender-hearted young girl flew to 
meet her, and explained at once, almost as though con- 
fessing treason, that she had “ slipped out and had a look 
— just a mere glance — at the new place.” 

“ Never mind,” said Constance, laughing. “ It only 
seems to have stimulated your curiosity, and after tea 
you and I will go down and investigate it thoroughly. 
The people are expecting me.” 

The Jervises had, of course, a great deal to say and to 
hear, but, fortunately for her own peace of mind, they did 
not probe too deeply, so that the strange chill which had 
settled over her spirits where Miss Armitage was con- 
cerned was not apparent. It had been impossible for 
Helen to conceal from Constance that there was, in spite 
of some chagrin, a sense of relief in dissolving their bond, 
and our heroine was too young, too ardent by nature, not 
to have the coldness of those whom she had lived among 
affect her. She began to dread linking herself too closely 
in feeling with these new companions lest the same dis- 


368 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


heartenment arise, and as she prepared for the walk with 
Kate Brumage after tea tried to assure herself that in the 
new arrangement would come not only interesting occupa- 
tion but home ties, which, though created largely by her- 
self, would have a strengthening, consoling effect. 

The building was soon reached — on the corner of a 
good street, not far from a small park, and with nothing 
in the surroundings to offend the eye and much to please 
it, the store and dwelling-house well situated — all, as Mr. 
Thomas had represented, in good order. He himself ad- 
mitted the girls, leading the way into the shop, where a 
young man of eighteen or thereabouts was dexterously 
cleaning up, preparatory, as Mr. Thomas explained, to the 
“ evening trade,” which set in about theatre- time. 

u Button-holes and such,” the florist continued. “ Some- 
times very good orders come in suddenly for pieces to be 
sent in over the lights, and William, this young man, al- 
ways stays to deliver them.” 

Constance listened, looked about with a critical, busi- 
ness-like air, though inwardly thankful Homer would 
soon be there to take the practical details in hand, and 
then, with Miss Brumage close beside her, followed Mr. 
Thomas upstairs. Directly over the store was a good- 
sized square parlor, fairly-well furnished, and which 
would adapt itself, no doubt, easily enough to such alter- 
ations as she and Clare between them would make. At 
the back was the kitchen and dining-room, two good 
sleeping-rooms between, all having windows looking out 
upon the street. Upstairs the same arrangement was re- 
peated; and Constance and Kate, as they bade Mr. 
Thomas a friendly good-night, turned their steps towards 
Mrs. Brooks’s abode, feeling decidedly encouraged by what 
they had seen and full of girlish anticipations and eager- 
ness to be at work. Clare and Homer would arrive, it was 
supposed, on Thursday, and the process of removal would 
not be difficult, since it was an understanding that in 


A NEW DEPARTURE. 


369 


both places very few things were to be disturbed. The 
trial time of three months was to be mutual. Homer and 
Mr. Thomas had settled all the business details satisfac- 
torily, and as a result the Colemans would have a little 
capital — very little, yet a beginning— on hand to start with, 
so that the rent of the floor Mrs. Jervis was taking could 
be laid aside towards purchases for the store below. Wil- 
liam Manning, the young man the Thomases were to “leave 
behind them,” would see to and initiate them into buying 
as well as selling, while Mr. Thomas would as far as 
possible supply them from the Amblesworth hot-houses, 
where he intended to make a specialty of roses, violets 
and hydrangeas. 

Miss Jervis was eager to see Constance on her return. 
Mr. Trapmen and his sister were in the parlor. Miss 
Trapmen was a large, fair, very self-satisfied girl, rather 
showily dressed. Whatever Miss Jervis had been saying, 
it was clear that curiosity formed a large part of the inter- 
est the Trapmens took in Rowena’s friend, for during the 
animated conversation or discussion which ensued they 
studied her so closely and critically that more than once 
Constance felt decidedly uncomfortable ; but it was clearly 
with no impolite intention, and the topic on hand — Ro- 
wena’s wedding — was of too absorbing a nature to allow 
of anything else claiming very much attention. If it did 
occur to Constance and Kate Brumage that the bride- 
elect entered rather too prominently into all the plans, ex- 
pressing her opinion with entire frankness and unreserve, 
the girls— as they told each other later— concluded this 
came from the very broad-minded philanthropic tenor of 
both their lives. If sentiment was apparently forgotten, 
it was no doubt because in their marriage they looked 
forward chiefly to an opportunity for promoting the 
“ cause ” better together than alone. 

“It’s about fixed, Miss Reade,” Rowena Jervis said, 
with the air of a successful general. “ We’ll be married 

24 


370 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


here about twelve o’clock on Thursday-week ; that’ll give 
us time before Saturday to go out to a meeting Joe has to 
address at Newark, and meet a deputation there; then 
Saturday morning we’ll start right out West. Eh, Joe?” 

“ That’s about the size of it,” said the liberal-minded 
Joseph. “ Well, now, my friends, I must be off. Come 
on, Maggie,” to his sister. “ Rowena, if you go out to- 
morrow, don’t you tire yourself out too much— do you 
hear ?” And with no further delay the groom-elect and his 
sister took their departure. Rowena, although well enough 
pleased to hear details of Mr. Thomas’s dwelling, was yet 
too much absorbed in her own affairs to pay very much 
attention to the queries Mrs. Jervis was putting, even 
though they referred to her mother’s future home. 

“ We’ll be up as early as we can to-morrow, and have a 
cab, Miss Reade,” pronounced Rowena. “Eor although 
I don’t mean to buy much , I’ll want it all spick and 
span new for the wedding.’ ’ 


CHAPTER LXXXV. 

CONSTANCE GOES UP TOWN. 

“ There ! I think I have fastened enough for this 
evening, Clare — and you will be here if any more are 
needed.” 

Constance surveyed a trayful of dainty boutonnieres , 
which she had just arranged with the artistic skill long 
ago exercised and developed out in Belchatel and Little 
Purchase, and, nodding to Clare, who was bending over a 
long, narrow, very business-like ledger, prepared to leave 
the store. 

“ Very well, dear — are you going for a walk?” 

“ Yes — a walk and a talk with myself! I’ll be in be- 


CONSTANCE GOES UP TOWN 


371 


fore dark; so don’t worry over me.” And eager to be 
away before any offers of companionship occurred, Con- 
stance flew up the staircase to the room she and Clare 
shared very harmoniously together, and which, like the 
rest of the dwelling, already showed evidences of new ten- 
ancy. Instead of Mrs. Thomas’s prim arrangement of fur- 
niture and ugly combination of colors, the girls had the 
pretty white enamelled set from home; window curtains 
of blue and white chintz; bureau ornaments; some sofa 
cushions ; a low, round table, well supplied with books, 
another, whereon writing materials were laid, occupying 
places formerly devoted to Mrs. Thomas’s slipped chairs and 
horsehair sofa; while the window, which, from being long 
and narrow, and having to be “ stepped up ” into, and then 
showing a comfortable seat, was Con’s delight, was hung 
in pretty dotted swiss, and had the cosiest of chintz cush- 
ions to lean against. Outside, on the wide ledge, were 
some plants, well-cared for, in a green box ; and not a day 
but saw upon the centre-table here, as well as elsewhere, 
a few freshly-gathered sprays and blossoms, tribute which 
Constance said she was determined their new trade should 
pay them daily. 

It was just one week since the “combination,” as Ho- 
mer, in one of his rarely hilarious moments, called Clare 
and Constance, had taken formal possession of the store 
and dwelling near Fourth Avenue, and, so far, no serious 
difficulties had been encountered. The girls found out 
that while their practical knowledge as gardeners stood 
them in good stead, the experience of the store was an ad- 
mirable “developer,” giving them abundant opportunity 
for really scientific study, as well as the practical care of 
house and window-plants, of which they had less knowl- 
edge. Already they talked of making a specialty of this 
branch of the business, and on the few walks the two 
girls had contrived to take together they had studied 
the various houses in which floral decoration was in evi- 


372 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


dence, Clare giving it as her opinion that their owners 
might easily be persuaded to let them attend to their 
house-plants systematically and on a fixed salary. 

The thorn in Constance’s side was her now daily attend- 
ance upon their lodgers. Miss Brumage, it is true, was in- 
stalled as the Jervises regular, paid companion and assist- 
ant, but there was always a morning summons for Miss 
Reade, who, from being asked to “ step up a moment, if 
she was not too busy,” was now simply told “ Mrs. Jer- 
vis would like to see her,” the result being a long confab 
— making up of accounts — discussions as to the wedding, 
preparations for which were in full progress, of course — 
inspection of samples or articles sent in, etc., etc., all of 
which would have been at least amusing occupation and 
interesting to any girlish mind, but that through the 
whole affair the real penuriousness of the Jervises was ap- 
parent. While eager to make a fine “ show ” and produce 
an effect of money and display on the minds of all the 
Trapmens and their family connections far and wide, yet 
the disbursement of money was a cruel task. It was amus- 
ing, however, to see their readiness to spend it where it was 
merely a question of dazzling the Trapmen “clan/’ and 
with this in view, Constance, on the afternoon in question, 
had been desired to leave an especial order at a store on 
Broadway for a better brand of champagne than that orig- 
inally designed for the wedding refreshments (it would not 
be a breakfast, nor even lunch), since the night before, at 
Mr. Trapmen’s own house, the quality served the guests 
was better than that they had “ sampled ” and selected, and 
accordingly Rowena had come home with “ Mumm’s Extra 
Dry ” committed to memory from the label of a bottle on 
the sideboard, and which she had carefully inspected when 
no one was observing her. 

Constance left the order and turned out onto Fifth Av- 
enue, walking in the direction of Mrs. Reade’s marble- 
house, which she had passed more than once, of late, in her 


DROY AGAIN. 


373 


daily rambles — not from any intention of penetrating the 
massive, chilly-looking doorway, but in the fond, foolish 
hope of seeing her father’s face, perhaps, if even for an in- 
stant, at the window. Until she heard from Larry Cole- 
man she feared even to make her presence known, but she 
was very certain that an answer to her eager letter of in- 
quiry as to what the allusions in his to the Doctor about 
“ Nepomonset,” etc., referred, would be soon forthcoming. 
Meanwhile, to behold the silent outer wall of her father’s 
house was all that was vouchsafed to her, but there was a 
certain sad consolation in feeling herself even as near to 
him as that. She had written a brief line to Mrs. Reade 
informing her of their establishment in New York, but it 
was evident from the silence with which it was received 
that they had no idea of troubling her socially. As Fen- 
ton with Bertie Gibbons was beyond Colorado by this time, 
there was no one whom Constance felt she could consult. 

No one appeared at any window ; not a sign of life was 
apparent; and moved by some half-defined impulse, Con- 
stance crossed the street and went up the steps of her 
father’s home, touching the electric bell with a feeling half- 
defiant, half- despondent. To stand thus at his door, 
scarcely daring to enter, seemed a position almost too 
cruel to endure, yet Constance would not draw back. She 
had so much right of way, at least. 


CHAPTER LXXXVI. 

DROY AGAIN. 

A strange servant opened the door, of whom Constance, 
without giving her name, inquired after the master of the 
house. 


374 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL 


“ About the same/’ said the man, in a rather sulky tone. 
He had been disturbed from his perusal of the evening 
paper, and had no intention of being detained longer than 
was absolutely necessary. 

“ He — I suppose — could I see him ?” 

The man stared at the late caller with undisguised 
astonishment, and, since it was clear from her question 
that she knew nothing of the wa}^s of the household, and 
was therefore no “ friend ” of the family, he could afford 
to be very “ short ” in dismissing her. 

“ Indeed not, Miss,” was his answer, as he prepared to 
close the door. “ Master never sees strangers.” 

And Constance, bitterly humiliated, pained beyond the 
power of self assertion, found herself standing without the 
closed portal. She drew down the veil she had pushed 
back in her eager survey of the house and walked quickly 
down Fifth Avenue, not once looking back, and striving 
to keep the tears which welled up into her eyes from fall- 
ing. Constance was so absorbed in these painful, cruel 
reflections that she did not hear rapid steps behind her 
nor recognize the sound of her own name spoken by a 
familiar voice until it was twice repeated, and she turned 
to behold Martin Droy almost at her side. She stood still, 
forced herself to composure, and held out a rather tremu- 
lous hand as he came nearer. 

“ Miss Reade ! I thought I heard your voice. I was in 
the library.” 

Droy stood looking down upon her, his dark, handsome 
face more expressive than ever of the admiration which 
this girl had always (and sorely against his will, since he 
understood certain matters) roused in him, while Con- 
stance, who saw only a chance of hearing from her father 
more directly, looked up eagerly as she said : 

“ Oh, Mr. Droy, if you are there, surely I ought to see 
my father. But first tell me how he is.” 

“ I am there only on business,” said Droy, in a guarded 


DEOY AGAIN. 


375 


tone and subduing his manner to something more con- 
ventional. “ And as for seeing him, Miss Iteade, really 
the doctors forbid the smallest excitement. His head, you 
see. They are striving to bring back his— rwell — memory ; 
and he is better, decidedly, only there must be no excite- 
ment of any kind. But, listen. Tell me how in any way 
I can serve you, and I will only too gladly do it.” 

They were walking slowly down the Avenue, and Con- 
stance for an instant bent her head in silence. She was 
grateful for Droy’s offer, but hardly knew how to make 
use of it, and there was always that scarcely-concealed and 
tormenting feeling of distrust of the man which affected 
her in spite of the personal charm which he unquestion- 
ably possessed and always exercised, at least over her 
imagination, directly they were together. It was a curious 
and contradictory state of mind — one in which she was 
distinctly attracted and repelled; for she felt his mag- 
netism, and objected to its exercise. She liked the quiet, 
half-restrained tones of his voice, the form and color of 
his eyes, yet shrank instinctively from the effect both 
voice and eyes produced. She found a curious fascina- 
tion in his presence, yet instinctively withdrew from the 
slightest personal contact. Constance was no woman of 
the world, no analyst of human feeling to dissect or make 
use of all this ; but she was hypersensitive where moral 
forces were at work, and Droy’s outer seeming, his charm, 
and his abilities, were all counterbalanced by this intan- 
gible yet effectual spirit of doubt which sprang up to ward 
off what so quickly touched her fancy. 

“ You are very good,” said the girl at last, and once 
more looking at him. “ And, Mr. Droy” — she stood still 
on the corner of the street, down which she was about to 
turn, and held out her hand — “ I will rely, then, on your 
sending me word the first moment you think he can or 
ought to see me. May I be sure of this?” 

“Yes, of course. Is this your street?” 


376 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ I am helping my friends Clare and Homer Coleman 
in a new venture,” Constance said, gravely. “We have 

opened a flower store No. , Fourth Avenue. I wrote 

Mrs. Reade about it, but she made no answer. And I 
have work, besides, with a tenant. I write for her, and look 
after her wants in a general way. I am rather late now, 
so I will say good-bye.” 

He set his lips together, forcing himself to accept his 
dismissal, but inwardly raging at being set aside so 
coolly by a girl who, he told himself, had nothing in 
the wide world to build that dignity of manner upon save 
her own inner consciousness, superiority and strength. 
Money was to Droy the distinct outer symbol of all in- 
ward grace, and Constance Reade, penniless, should have 
no place whatever in his consideration. How was it, then, 
that he found it so hard to dismiss her from his thoughts? 
So hard, when with her, to say or do anything but his 
best (for Droy, like all of us, had a “ best ” in which were 
some really lofty sentiments), which the purity of this 
girl’s very glance seemed to challenge. 

“ Mark Reade’s daughter in a flower store !” he reflected, 
as, after surveying the neighborhood for an instant or 
more in half-contemptuous silence, he turned away. 
“ This is a queer turn in the wheel of fortune ! How 
soon, I wonder, will I have my chance? Well, it can’t 
be very long in coming as things are going now;” and 
then Mr. Droy turned his steps, still thoughtfully, in the 
direction of the Rialto, upon which ever-crowded thor- 
oughfare he felt sure of meeting more than one Thespian 
of his acquaintance, who, in exchange for a light refresh- 
ment, might give him some “ items ” for his weekly letter 
to the Belchatel Mercury. 


“NO HONEST MAN OR WOMAN COULD DO IT” 377 


CHAPTER LXXXVII. 

“no honest man or woman could do it.” 

Whatever the romance which might be properly sup- 
posed to have come into Rowena Jervis’s life with her 
engagement, it was very clear that none of it tinged the 
preparations for or the transactions of her wedding-day. 
It was “business,” as Mr. Trapmen had observed jocu- 
larly the evening before, “ from the word go.” 

Bright and early was all the household astir on the 
eventful morning, the youth William being left to conduct 
the details of the flower-store after eleven o’clock, in order 
to leave Clare and Constance, and even Homer — who alone 
seemed keenly interested in every trifle concerning the 
affair — free to assist the bride and her mother, and to set 
forth in the dining-room of their own floor the very sim- 
ple wedding repast prepared for the half-dozen invited 
guests. There was certainly some consistency in Rowena’s 
rather too progressive views, since Lottie Pervilsky, now 
thoroughly convalescent, was to be a guest on this occa- 
sion ; and after “ all was over ” Rowena said — much as one 
might speak of a funeral — she was to accompany them to 
the Hall in Newark, N. J., where the groom expected to 
address an eager assemblage on the subject of the “ La- 
borer and his hire — Is he worthy ?” 

Constance wondered more than once what element it 
was within herself which made all of this so distasteful 
to her. Was she not a liberal advocate of the “rights ” 
of others from the days when, as a child of six, she domi- 
nated a happy little circle in Belchatel, upon whom she 
spent royally of her abundance, without the smallest re- 
gard for her own well-being or personal ambitions? And 
had she not ever a ready hand, a gentle word for the dis- 


378 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


tressed, the suffering or the sorrowful ? Why was it, then, 
that these newer and more agitating philanthropies affected 
her as only noise and tumult, with nothing human or 
divine in their origin or intent ? Gladly would she have 
sought out suffering and needy families among the 
“strikers,” helped them in more ways than even with food 
and money; but this “tinkling of brass and cymbal,” so 
to speak, in the Jervises methods only disheartened her. 
Joseph Trapmen she and Clare privately pronounced odi- 
ous, and drove Homer into a lengthy dissertation on the 
folly of. allowing the imagination free play when they 
abused him for being so “ taken with the Trapmen 
family. Kate Brumage hovered neutrally-disposed in 
outer seeming, though her sublime faith in Constance 
made her almost feel it wrong to enjoy the idea of “fun ” 
in an affair which seemed to bore that young person; but 
it was impossible for her amiable little countenance not 
to look sunny and to dimple with the prettiest smiles 
when she put on the waist of pink and green silk 
which Miss Jervis had presented her to wear at the wed- 
ding, or to be anything but flustered when at noon the 
bridal party assembled in the parlor over the shop, there 
in solemn state to await the arrival of Mr. Trapmen and 
his party. They came — clergyman, best man (a solemn 
friend), who looked, Constance thought, like an under- 
taker, and the dark-eyed Polish girl, who, thinner and 
paler than ever, had more of the “ priestess' ’ in her ap- 
pearance than before. But Constance had decided upon 
making friends with her ; and accordingly, while the cere- 
mony took place, and Mrs. Jervis silently wept behind a 
new embroidered handkerchief, and Rowena fixed Joe 
Trapmen with a glance which defied him to err or falter 
in his answers, Constance stood by Miss Perviisky with 
the air of her chosen friend. 

Scant time was given to any farewells — to bride-cake, 
drinking of healths, or any minor matters of the kind. 


“NO HONEST MAN OR WOMAN COULD DO IT.” 


379 


The next event in order, the mass meeting in New Jersey, 
had to be “ met,” as Mr. Trapmen observed, and within an 
hour the wedding party had taken their departure. Lottie 
Pervilsky had also gone, after promising Constance to send 
her word the next day of her new abode, and by three 
o’clock Clare was seated behind her desk in the store again, 
while Constance and Hannah, upstairs, were putting the 
rooms in their usual order, Kate having conducted Mrs. 
Jervis up to her own room, where that lady promptly set 
about making up her accounts — a decided subject of re- 
lief being in the fact that not a farthing beyond the sum 
she had decided upon had been expended for the wed- 
ding. 

Constance had concluded her work and was standing in 
the parlor window looking down upon the quiet street, 
now dashed with the rain which had begun just as the 
bridal party were driven away. Idle as her thoughts were, 
they included some of the anxieties recently in her life; 
and, as usual, the undercurrent of feeling, wonderment, 
half-tangible dread, with which she thought of Fenton, 
colored them in a vague, distressful fashion ; for Fenton 
had seemed to disappear from her existence, leaving— save 
in her thoughts — not a trace behind. Her Fernhills life 
had vanished forever ; the brief dream, too, of reunion with 
her father — that was at an end ! Was all of life, Constance 
wondered, to go on in this spirit of obliteration — abne- 
gation — lack of individuality or personal charm ? Were 
all marks save those of mere labor to be effaced from her 
life’s page as soon as created, while grief alone could dare 
to assert itself as potent, as master of her mind and heart, 
when recollection fain would be sweet and tender — Hope 
try to lift her head ? 

Some one — a tall woman in an ulster — was crossing the 
street, and as she stepped on to the curb Constance recog- 
nized Mrs. Reade’s servant, Agnes ! 

In an instant she was at the door, realizing before Agnes 


380 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


spoke that this meant a summons from her father. Had 
Droy, perhaps, sent her ? But Agnes had come on her own 
responsibility. 

44 Oh, Miss Reade, hurry up !” said the good-hearted 
creature. 44 I’ve never forgot you, Miss, and your kindness 
to me ; and now, when I was up in the master’s room, he 
says to me : 4 Agnes,’ says he , 4 you’ll be a true girl and do 
a favor; they’re all out,’ says he, 4 and I want to see my 
daughter, Constance, alone. Can you bring her right 
away ?’ And here I am, Miss.” 

Barely waiting to thank the faithful creature, Constance 
flew back to her own room, hastily donning her water- 
proof and hat, and only leaving word that she was 44 going 
out in a great hurry on a little business/’ rejoined Agnes, 
who was well content to have Constance hail the first 
hansom they encountered, as she explained they could 
leave it on the corner below Mrs. Reade’s dwelling. 

44 You see, Miss,” said Agnes, as the cab dashed along, 
44 Mrs. Reade and Miss Gen they had to go out to some 
lawyer’s down town, though I can tell you she doesn’t like 
the notion of leaving the master long alone. She watches 
him like a cat will a mouse. Well, Williams — that’s the new 
man-servant” — Constance remembered him and nodded 
her head — 44 you see, now and again, Miss, he is fond of the 
little drop, and so he’d had a sup or two and was asleep on 
the dining-room sofa when master’s bell rang. Up I goes, 
for I’m always glad to be near the poor, dear gentleman, 
Miss Constance, for he's glad to have me, and his face was 
like a frighted child’s. 4 Agnes,’ says he , 4 do you know 
where Miss Con’s stoppin’ ? She’s no call to be away so 
long from me/ says he.” 

44 Oh, my poor father !” murmured Constance. 

44 4 Yes, sir/ says I,” pursued Agnes. “ ‘Well’, says he, 
‘ fetch her right here, wdthout a word to any one, before 
they, one of them, gets back’ — and here I am, Miss.” 

44 Dear Agnes !” exclaimed Constance, pressing the faith- 


“NO HONEST MAN OR WOMAN COULD DO IT” 381 

ful woman’s hand ; “ I can never repay you ! But you 
have done your duty. Fear nothing, even if it is found 
out.” 

“ Oh, they're going to be away for dinner — Williams told 
me,” said Agnes, “ or he'd never have been lolling around. 
Mrs. Reade’s got awftd cranky and sharp, lately. She acts 
like a woman with a bad conscience, Miss. And as for 
that Droy, I don’t care much for his kind,” concluded the 
girl, with a sniff. 

The cab came to a sudden stand-still, and Constance 
and her companion hastily descended, paid the man, and 
then, like frightened fugitives, made all speed to the side- 
entrance of the great dwelling, for which the maid had a 
latch-key. Unobserved, they entered ; Constance followed 
Agnes noiselessly up the back staircase, thence to the 
door of a room in the second-story. Her heart beat al- 
most to suffocation as she opened it and found herself 
once more alone with her beloved father. The joy of 
meeting was mutual, and as Constance felt herself folded 
in her father’s loving arms, his thin hand stroking her 
hair while he called her by all the tenderest names of 
childhood, she forgot all but the fact of their reunion, nor 
asked herself why she had so long been hindered from 
seeing him, or for what reason he had summoned her 
now. She was here. He was ill — one glance at his thin 
face, in which the pallor seemed almost that of death, con- 
vinced her of this ; and in the same instant she felt sure 
that mental anxiety was a deep factor in his bodily dis- 
ease. 

“ Dear father !” Constance said at last, when she had laid 
aside her cloak and was kneeling beside his chair. “ How 
glad I am to see you ! Oh, why have you not sent before !” 

“ I could not; but, Constance, we will not talk of that 
now, my child. I sent for you — there is something for 
you to do.’’ 

“ Yes ? What is it, dear father ?” 


382 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


He rose and moved slowly about the room, his arms 
folded, his head bent down ; finally pausing before the 
table, he said in a sharp, incisive, low tone : 

“ Constance, those Nepomonset mines are in your 
name, and to-day, through Colestoun, I have had an offer 
for them — to sell at once. Your signature is necessary ; 
you must write a letter at my dictation, authorizing the 
sale.” He looked at her with a curious gleam in his eyes. 
u It will make you , Constance — in spite of them — a rich 
woman!” 

What was it that made Constance feel a sudden shiver 
of dread as she listened to words which at any other 
time would have been cause of such swift rejoicing? Im- 
possible to account for it; yet, as she stood there, something 
in her father’s tone, his look, moved her to say. 

“ Father, why do you speak in that way ?” As she hesi- 
tated he smiled and said, w r ith more of his old manner : 

“ Because I shall be glad to think Mrs. Reade dare not 
despise you, dare not longer try to keep us apart. There, 
take the letter — read that.” 

He handed her a closely-written sheet, the heading, 
u Bruce & Co., Chandos St ., Belchatel ,” being familiar to her 
as the name of a firm not very well spoken of, she remem- 
bered, in former days. 

Constance read on, hardly understanding all the busi- 
ness details, although her own name recurred once or 
twice, until she came to a sentence which, after the first 
reading, seemed to numb all her faculties : 

“ Of course , with the flaw in the title we’ve really no right to 
sell ; but no one knows of it, and Jenifer need never be the wiser . 
The mines will change hands within thirty days of this transaction, 
and Jude Ruppert will see that we are clear of any intention in the 
affair, but your daughter’s consent and signature are necessary.” 

“ Father!” exclaimed Constance, her eyes fixed upon 
his face, “ did you read this ?” 

She was about to hand him the paper, when he seized it, 


NO HONEST MAN OB WOMAN COULD DO IT” 383 


his eyes flashed, and he said, in a tone of restrained pas- 
sion : 

“ You have the wrong letter ! I meant to give you this 
one ! What nonsense are you trying to create ?” 

His teeth were set firmly together ; Constance felt a cold, 
sickening horror creep over her as she looked her father 
clearly, bravely in the face, and knew that he would have 
let this pass ! 

He was ill — not quite himself — tormented by the 
wretched sense of dependence on his wife’s bounty — any- 
thing , prayed the girl, but not — oh, not wilfully dishonest! 

“ Father !” Constance exclaimed, hurriedly, “ do you not 
see , dearest, he speaks here of a flaw — that we have no right 
to sell ! it is all to be managed in some way — the way, per- 
haps, Nethersole’s land was bought, do you remember, of 
old Mainey when Mr. Atherton had a first claim on it.” 
She referred to a transaction, notorious the length and 
breadth of Talmut county, in her childhood. 

“ Don’t stand there idling, Constance!” Reade exclaimed, 
with sudden passion. u I tell you it is my one hope of 
freedom ! This sale shall go on! He’ll make it up, if anything 
ever comes of it ! I telegraphed them to-day. Droy knows 
all about it, and he says there’s not a shadow of harm in it !” 

“ Droy advises it !” Constance could scarcely express 
the scorn she felt. “ Oh, father, are you dead to all honor! 
Listen to me, dearest. Let me work for you, slave for you 
— but only do not let this thing go on. No honest man or 
woman coidd do it, father! Look at me, dear, and be 
guided by me! You are ill, or you would not do this 
thing !” Tears were coursing swiftly down her cheeks, and 
she drew near to put her arms tenderly about his neck. 
“ It is not you, father, who are doing or thinking this ! Sit 
down, and I will send Agnes here and go away at once, and 
see what can be done.” 

He was trembling visibly. Whether his half-clouded 
brain took in all that she was saying, whether he realized 


384 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


the wrong he had seemed willing to let pass, there was no 
time now to think ; all that the girl felt sure of was that 
no time was to be lost ! This sale must at all hazards be 
stopped, and she must reach by the quickest means an 
office where a dispatch to Colorado w r ould be “ rushed.” 
Her own loss in the transaction scarcely occurred to Con- 
stance’s mind, so filled was it with the desire to avert what 
alone seemed a catastrophe — a dishonest if not actually 
fraudulent sale, made more appalling to her since done 
in her name ! Some wine had been poured out in a glass 
near by ; Constance held it to her father’s lips, saw that it 
revived him, and pressing a kiss upon his cold forehead, 
hurried from the room, too intent upon her errand to 
think even of acquainting Agnes of her departure; but she 
was not to go without interference from an unexpected 
source. The library-door was opened suddenly and Droy 
came out, his face white and anxious, his manner that of 
one who fears something he cannot or will not put into 
words. 

“ Constance !” — he seized her by the arm — u where are 
you going ? You look like ” — he laughed discordantly — 
“ an avenging angel.” 

But Constance shook her arm free from a touch which 
now seemed only abhorrent! Had not he advised her 
poor, weak-minded father to an action which in former 
times Mr. Reade would not have listened to without spurn- 
ing his tempter ? 

“ Where am I going ?” exclaimed the girl. “ To right a 
wrong, if I can do so. If only I am in time to save the Ne- 
pomonset from being sold !” 

Droy’s face turned livid with rage — disappointment — a 
dozen sickening feelings; but Constance had rushed past 
him. A moment more and the door had closed upon her, 
while Droy, after standing still for a brief moment, trying 
to grasp this new turn in the course of events, drew back 
into the room, facing the young lady at the fireside, who 


“NO HONEST MAN OR WOMAN COULD DO IT” 385 

was engaged in drying the toes of a pair of very exquisite 
kid boots. 

“ So it was my amiable step-sister,” said Genevieve, with 
a little grimace. “ Well, I suppose, after all, she had a 
right to see her father, poor man. Dr. Knowlton says it 
may only be a question of days with him.” 

“ No doubt.” Droy, still a trifle pale and angry in 
mood, looked at the girl with unusual interest. If that 
was Constance’s “ little game,” all of those tender feelings 
he had fought against must come to an end once and for- 
ever, and why not — well — at least “ keep in ” with Mrs. 
Reade’s daughter? 

u See here, Gen,” he said, a trifle roughly, “ take your 
wet things off and come down here for a cosey talk. I 
don’t see half as much as I’d like of you, lately.” 

Genevieve’s easily-moved heart stirred a trifle quicker, 
but she shook her head. 

“ Not to night, Droy,” she answered, moving towards 
the door. “ You’re very entertaining company, there’s no 
doubt, when you choose to be, but I’ve other things to at- 
tend to just now.” 

“No foolishness for me of that kind,” was the girl’s re- 
flection as she went up the stairs. “ Heigho ! I wonder 
what has happened that Bertie hasn’t written to me for 
ten whole days. Could his letters have been lost? Oh, 
no ; I call for them too regularly.” 

Nevertheless, the consideration made the girl unusually 
grave and preoccupied, even when at dinner. Mrs. Reade 
and Droy both strove to rouse her to some interest in the 
discussion of her step-father’s fast failing health. 


25 


386 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


CHAPTER LXXXVIIL 
conscience! 

Constance was scarcely conscious of the wet pavement 
or the rain dashing against her face, half-blinding her, as 
she made her way to the nearest telegraph office, where 
she might send a “ rushed” dispatch. Luckily, she had 
money with her. Not knowing what Agnes’s summons 
might involve, she had put ten dollars of her little hoard 
in her purse ; and now, cost what it might, those words, 
burning themselves into her brain, u Do not sell the Nepo- 
monset until further instructions ,” should go flying across the 
country, and a crime, perhaps, be averted ! 

The office was soon reached. Explaining that every 
hour was of consequence, Constance wrote out her dispatch 
to “ Bruce & Co., Belchatel,” and then, with a sudden feel- 
ing of tension relieved, took the car across town. Every- 
thing seemed still in a mist, a whirl, before her mind, and, 
as well, her outer vision. She had once and for all beg- 
gared herself — lost her last chance or hope of independ- 
ence; for now, of course, so far as she and her father were 
concerned, the mines were valueless. She thought of 
Larry, what he had written, of his advice for her to see 
Mr. Colestoun. It was all, no doubt, on the same dreary, 
disappointing business ; and, now that the “ deed was 
done,” Constance felt a sudden drop from the strained 
point of view which had governed her to a frame of mind 
in which, while, of course, she did not, could not, regret 
her action, afforded her none of the exaltation which comes 
from a successful heroism. Everything seemed once more 
stale, unprofitable, drearily worthless, and with a rush of 
indescribable misery and disappointment Constance real- 
ized how it would have been had she allowed this sale to 



“ She made her way to the nearest telegraph office.” 








A DYING SUMMONS. 


387 


go on. Wealth, and all its power implies, would have 
been hers ! 

On her homeward way, leaving the cars, she passed a 
little church near home always open until nightfall, and 
into which she had seen many a weary-looking pilgrim 
going with an air of mental, moral, even bodily weakness. 
The gate was open, and going up the steps, Constance 
found herself in a dimly-lighted edifice. She moved me- 
chanically up the side-aisle, and entering one of the pews, 
knelt, lost in thoughts hardly forming themselves into 
prayer, until at last the words came seemingly of them- 
selves — prayer for guidance, strength, fortitude. She 
thought of what she had just resigned. But would food 
or raiment, shelter itself, have seemed her own had she 
taken it? Would even the love that might have been 
hers have crept into every recess of her heart and warmed 
it? No! for there would have been a hidden chamber, 
whose door was barred, and within which Conscience , mer- 
ciless but just, would have been seated till the very judg- 
ment-day itself! And Constance knew that from some 
unseen height an angel of mercy had bent down with un- 
folded wing while the tempter was drawing near to her, 
and in its shadow her wavering soul and conscience had 
rested for a moment, to stand out strengthened, once more 
untarnished by even the veil of temptation which for a 
brief hour had encompassed them. 


CHAPTER LXXXIX. 

A DYING SUMMONS. 

Constance had to answer Clare’s most anxious and re- 
proachful inquiries when she made her appearance at 
home, wet and exhausted, after her exciting journey and 
experience ; but the girl’s face was so white and haggard 


388 


A GIRL’S ORDEAL . 


that Clare’s sympathies drove all curiosity out of her 
mind, and the “ I had an important telegram to send,” 
vague, though it might be, sufficed in explanation. Con- 
stance submitted herself to old Hannah’s tender ministra- 
tions ; was “ tucked up ” in bed, after which she drank, 
gratefully enough, a bowl of the old woman’s home- 
made herb tea, noted for years in all Garth County. She 
slept at last. Clare was relieved, but still troubled, for 
Constance’s cheeks were scarlet and her pulse bounding • 
but when she returned to the room later to relieve little 
Kate in her anxious, loving watch, the patient was awake, 
declaring herself much better, and able to take a tempting 
little supper which Hannah had prepared. Then Con- 
stance drifted into slumber again with a happy, peaceful 
and clear conscience, which colored dreamland and made 
her awake to the duties, pains or pleasures of a new day 
with a more hopeful heart, more buoyant spirit. 

She was preparing to go over Mrs. Jervis’s daily accounts, 
which that lady, for some reason, preferred her inspecting, 
even though Miss Brumage attended to all purchases, 
when Hannah informed her the “ same party was below,” 
and in a moment Constance was with Agnes, and knew 
that the worst had come directly she beheld her face. 
Mr. Reade was barely conscious, but the doctor pronounced 
the case a hopeless one, and had insisted upon his daugh- 
ter being summoned. 

“ And I guess, Miss,” said Agnes, as they were hurriedly 
wending their way to the car, “ they didn’t dare refuse — 
it would have looked so bad all around.” 

Constance dreaded inexpressibly the meeting with Mrs. 
Reade, for whom she felt not only an instinctive aversion, 
but the distrust born of this recent seclusion of her father. 
But the household was in such a state of excitement when 
they reached it that Constance's arrival was scarcely no- 
ticed, and the dreaded encounter passed off in almost 
silence, Constance merely bowing in answer to her step- 


A DYING SUMMONS. 


389 


mother’s curt salutation, passing directly into her father’s 
room and to his bedside. He knew her, and as she bent 
over him his feeble lips moved slightly to say “ Is it all 
right, Con ? I am not — what you thought ?” she answered, 
with a quick pressure of her hand, and : 

“Yes, father — thank God — you are clear! — set your 
mind at rest.” 

It troubled him no more. He smiled in token of his 
relief, and Constance, in spite of Mrs. Reade’s presence 
and evident disapprobation, took her place by her hither’s 
side, determined not to leave him while life remained. 

The hours passed with but little change. The doctor 
came and went. Martin Droy appeared from time to 
time. Once Genevieve, evidently keenly anxious, though 
in no way moved at heart, came in to stand a moment at 
the foot of the bed, exchange a curt word with Constance, 
and depart, evidently interested in the case, though not 
grieved over the fatal aspect it had assumed. Constance 
prayed dumbly; once or twice she murmured in her 
father’s ear one of her favorite texts ; she went over and 
over a little prayer they had long ago said together, and she 
fancied the dying senses took in their meaning ; but there 
was little change until, at ten o’clock, he roused himself, 
looked at them all with widely-distended eyes, and said : 

“ Constance! my child !” And, seeing her, smiled, and 
lay back with eyelids drooping over eyes that would look 
upon her never again until the great day of meeting in 
God’s wider, fairer universe ! For good or ill it was ended. 
Whether the struggle of Mark Reade’s life had been igno- 
ble or the reverse — whether its gain was others’ loss or his 
own — the tale was told. The once busy heart and brain 
were silenced — useless clay, which had so short a time be- 
fore been full of schemes — of plans — of keenest purposes ! 
What mattered it now that he had garnered wealth or 
struggled in poverty? What was there to live after him ? 
What title-deeds had he carried into God’s country ? 


390 


A GIBUS ORDEAL. 


CHAPTER XC. 

“i AM MARRIED!” 

Death in the great marble house stilled and subdued it 
outwardly for the three days which elapsed before Mark 
Reade was borne to his last resting-place ; yet never was 
interior tumult greater than that going on in the minds 
and hearts of two, at least, of those who were present. 
Constance returned to her friends at home to busy herself 
with such simple mourning as she meant to wear, forcing 
herself to an outward calm she believed never to be felt 
again in heart or mind or brain ; but her composure was 
for the sake of others ; she dared not “ give way ” lest the 
floodgates, once opened, should set loose a torrent too 
long held back ! She longed to pour out her heart, to find 
a vent for all the feelings still rising, and at times insur- 
gent, which this sudden grief but emphasized and made 
more real ; yet, save in her pallor and the dark rings about 
her eyes, there was no outward manifestation of what she 
was feeling, while never once — so sure was she that by her 
own act she had lost the last chance of inheritance — did 
it occur to her that there could be any hope of pecuniary 
gain to her in her father’s death. The funeral was at last 
over; the widow and her daughter allowed — or I might 
better say tolerated — Constance’s presence during the 
dreary autumn morning when, with all due pomp and 
ceremony, poor Mark Reade was carried to his last resting- 
place; and it was Tom Colestoun, with his kindly glance, 
and bent, shaggy brows, who came up first to offer a some- 
what brusque but honest condolence, and to say, while he 
held her hand in his : 

“ Miss Reade, let me know if I can be of any use to 


“I AM MARRIED r 


391 


you. I don’t know — someway, I fancy, I may be able to 
do you a little service.” 

And Constance had thanked him — a sudden remem- 
brance of Larry’s letter and his reference to Mr. Colestoun 
only making her wonder what “poor Tom,” as his wife 
called him, would say if he knew she had so wilfully 
flung her one chance with the Nepomonset to the winds. 
But of one thing she felt certain : his meaning — his inten- 
tion — was kindly and sincere, and her gratitude was in 
proportion. It was easy enough to say, with all sincerity, 
“ Thank you, Mr. Colestoun ; I know you are kind, and I 
shall remember your offer.” 

Genevieve found it almost impossible to control the 
anxiety with which she awaited, on the same day, a sum- 
mons she felt sure would bring her, and perhaps Con- 
stance, to the library, in which the widow, Mr. Colestoun, 
Mr. Blount and Martin Droy were closeted, discussing the 
condition of the family affairs. Constance had seated 
herself dejectedly — silently— in one corner of the sofa, 
and while Genevieve walked restlessly up and down, lis- 
tening eagerly to every chance sound or footfall in the 
passages or staircase, her mind worked sadly enough ; but 
Genevieve was feverishly — keenly — alert ! A letter from 
Bertie — in her pocket at that moment — seemed almost to 
communicate the impatience of its phraseology to her fin- 
gers when now and then she touched it; for he wrote urging 
upon her the necessity of “ making some sort of terms 
with her people,” and acknowledging the marriage. He 
was coming home again; Fenton would not leave him in 
that “ cursed gaming-hole,” now that he saw for himself its 
temptations, and if Fenton did not bring him, he would 
manage to come of himself. He was none too well — the cli- 
mate was killing him by inches, etc., etc. Dearly woul4 
Genevieve have liked to make a confidante of Constance 
simply that she might enjoy, in their relation, details of her 
“ romantic ” love-affair and marriage ; but she felt there 


392 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


would not be, as yet, enough of triumph in the telling. One 
thing troubled her seriously. Now that all of Mr. Readers 
business matters were being discussed, it must be known 
that her Byronic young husband had “ utilized ” the paper 
she had signed in the Garth County school-house that event- 
ful morning when it had seemed so delightful never again 
to be Genevieve Henderson ! Would it come out? Gene- 
vieve paused in her slow walk, frowning and looking down 
half-angrily into the fire; but before she had opened her 
lips to frame some question on the subject which should 
be veiled and non-committal, Constance nerved herself to 
a speech she had dreaded — postponed — kept, as it were, at 
bay until now, finding a chance of a prolonged tete-a-tete 
with her step-sister — knowing that the time had come 
when it shoidd be mentioned — she said gravely, tremu- 
lously, almost, so anxious was she neither to excite nor 
wound her companion : 

“ Genevieve, I wish you would be frank with me. I 
would like to help you if you are in any trouble. Not 
long ago, up at Gelston, I met a girl who told me — you — 
were married ! A friend of hers had witnessed it ! Can it 
possibly be true ?” 

Genevieve uttered a low cry, half-dismay, half-aston- 
ishment, and as she stood still, gazing with widely-opened 
eyes upon her companion, Constance went on ; 

“ It was the girl Carrie Elbright who told me a friend 
of hers, named Marne Joyce, had seen it through the 
school-house window !” 

“And — you believed her ?” Genevieve knew she was only 
temporizing, but she tried to smile, with her old, con- 
temptuous manner. 

Must I —can I doubt her? Answer me, Genevieve, 
on your honor!” 

“ On my honor — ” and then the door opened, and Mar- 
tin Droy, evidently roused out of his usual composure, 
came into the room. Whatever had unnerved him had 


U I AM MARRIED!” 


393 


brought a look of veiled ferocity into the depths of his 
handsome eyes and curved the lines about his lips into a 
contemptuous smile. 

“ Will you come into the library, Miss Henderson?” he 
said, half-savagely ; “ and you also, if you please, Miss 
Reade? What a pity,” to Genevieve, “your step-father 
did not take you more fully into his confidence— possi- 
bly— ” 

He broke off with a discordant laugh, and held the 
door of the library open for the two girls to pass in. 

Constance was still trembling from the agitation of her 
speech, but Droy’s look, his manner, his cutting words 
had roused Genevieve to a defiance which kept her out- 
wardly calm, and when Mrs. Reade looked fixedly at her, 
and Mr. Blount drew out a chair, she stood perfectly still, 
glancing with entire self-possession from one to another 
of the group, her eyes resting finally and with new cold- 
ness upon Droy’s still contemptuous face, reflected in the 
mirror opposite; but the lawyer’s cold, incisive tones con- 
centrated her attention at last entirety upon himself. 

“ As matters stand now, Miss Henderson,” Mr. Blount 
was saying, “ you are left a sum of money, we find, which 
is contingent upon — your marriage — ” 

Genevieve’s color came and went — she Aa(f-glanced at 
Droy, who made no sign, and Mr. Blount continued : 
“ We are led to infer that an — ahem ! — engagement exists 
— our friend here — ” 

Genevieve, with a queer feeling, half-faint, half-dazed, 
roused herself thoroughly now, and in a low, strained voice 
said, quickly : 

“ Money — on my marriage — do you mean ?” She, too, 
glanced at Martin — oh, what a fool she had been ! 

“It is simply this,” said the lawyer, dismissing all pre- 
amble. “No one is specified — if you marry, or on your 
marriage, you receive from the estate of your step-father a 
sum held in trust by him of seventy-five thousand dollars.” 


394 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


There was a moment of absolute silence, during which 
a look of exultation crept over Droy’s face, and one of 
stony, marble-like indifference hardened Mrs. Reade’s 
coarse features. Genevieve laughed ! She caught at the 
table near by, looking from one to another with blazing 
eyes. 

“ Is that all!” she exclaimed, hysterically. “ Oh, well, 
then, I am married! Oh, yes. I am Mrs. Bertie Gib- 
bons /” 


CHAPTER XCI. 

“let there be no delay.” 

While all of this was going on a scene scarcely less 
exciting was taking place in Mrs. Tom Colestoun’s bijou 
residence; its mistress rapidly putting on her out-of- 
door garments, while her husband fumbled among some 
papers and gave her instructions in a voice unnecessarily 
loud, as she vainly reminded him, and which were so in- 
coherent that she sat down at last in despair, exclaiming: 

u My dear Tom, if you intend me to do anything right 
you must say something I can understand. I haven’t the 
faintest idea what you are talking about.” 

“ Well, see here,” returned Tom, flinging a letter across 
to her ; “ read that aloud again, like a good girl, while I 
look for the memo.” 

And composing her voice and nerves to their usual 
calm, Mrs. Colestoun read as follows : 

“ My Dear Mr. Colestoun : 

“ It is of the utmost importance that Miss Henderson, or, 
as I now know she is to be called, Mrs. Albert Gibbons, 
should come on here at once. Her husband is ill, and 
although the doctors do not pronounce the case desperate, 


“LET THEBE BE NO DELAY” 


395 


there is no knowing what turn it may take, and her pres- 
ence, for business reasons as well as personal, is desirable 
at once. He is being well cared for at the house of people 
named Elbright, to whom he applied for shelter last Mon- 
day. Gibbons, it seems, heard his step-brother was look- 
ing for him, and fancied he intended making trouble, so, 
sick as he was, came on here to Jerry Duke’s sister and 
her daughter. Fenton, of course, was sent for — just now 
he has gone into Little Purchase for a second physician. 
Get Constance Reade to attend to her step-sister’s coming 
at once. Whatever the cost, let there be no delay. I am 
still studying into the Nepomonset case on the trail you 
gave me. Be sure and telegraph when Bertie’s wife starts, 
and hurry it up at all hazards. 

“ Yours, etc., etc., Lawrence Coleman.” 

“ Now, then, my dear,’’ said Mr. Colestoun, more 
amiably, “ what you are to do is to make all haste up to 
Miss Reade and her step-sister and see that the start is 
made at once. No one can tell yet how important this 
may be. As for funds, I’ll attend to that. I know she’s 
all right so far as money goes.” 

“Am I actually to put her on board the train ?” 

“I wish you could. What’s the use of delay? But I 
presume you’ll not accomplish quite so much. See, how- 
ever, that she will be ready by daybreak to-morrow. Bet- 
ter bring her down here, and I can give her full instruc- 
tions, and then get her off myself at dawn in the morn- 
ing.” 

“ If she refuses?” 

“Good heavens! she won’t . See here, if she does — ” 
Colestoun’s honest, plain face hardened — “you can tell 
her that Bertie may use her name too freely if she isn’t 
with him as quick as steam can take her.” 

“ I will call at the Fourth Avenue florists first,” said 
Mrs. Colestoun ; “ Constance may have returned there.” 


396 


A GIBES ORDEAL. 


“Very well! Only, hurry; catch a hansom — pay the 
man two fares to drive like a race-horse.” 

There was more back of it, Mrs. Tom felt sure, as she 
was whirled along to Clare Coleman's little place of busi- 
ness, there to find her husband’s surmise correct. Con- 
stance had returned, thankful to escape the tumult occa- 
sioned by Genevieve’s announcement, and which had acted 
upon the company like the sudden scattering of an elec- 
tric current, although it was evident the lawyer considered 
her “case” a very good one from his entirely friendly 
overtures, etc. ; but Constance was not needed. Genevieve 
knew where to find her. Nothing had been said of the Ne- 
pomonset matter, and she accordingly concluded that the 
whole transaction, purchase and proposed sale of the 
mines was not known to the widow and her daughter, 
while she was sure it was wiser for her to say nothing 
until she could at least consult Mr. Colestoun and hear 
from Larry. 

“ Oh yes, Mrs. Colestoun, I will go back, if you think 
it necessary,” said Constance, who felt half-dazed by all 
that she had passed through, and quite ready to accept 
any new complication, no matter how improbable its de- 
tails. “ Of course they are all very angry — they have had 
a terrible scene.” She bade Clare good bye hurriedly, and 
was soon in the cab, wondering how many more flying 
journeys she was thus to make before a period of calm 
could be expected. 

“ Mrs. Reade was furious — still, what could be said ? The 
money was simply left in trust by Genevieve’s father ; the 
only reason she never heard of it was because he did not 
wish it to influence any one who married her ; but even 
Mr. Blount says, since she really is Bertie Gibbons’s wife, 
she can draw on it at anytime she chooses.” 

“ It will simplify matters ; now all we need is to get her 
to go away to Bertie at once.” 

Genevieve had disposed of all the anger and opposition 


“LET THERE BE NO DELAY .” 


397 


with which her mother met the astonishing information 
of her secret marriage in her usual clear-headed and sum 
mary fashion. 

“ It’s done, Ma, now, I’m thankful to say. Of course 
I never knew what it meant, and I’m sure Mr. Droy didn’t 
either, or — well, bygones are bygones; now, then, Fd like 
to have a little rest, if everyone is through with lecturing 
me,” said the triumphant Genevieve. “ All this has been 
rather wearing to my nerves, I can assure yon and as she 
once more caught Droy’s eye the girl lifted her head a 
trifle higher, and determined even yet he should see how 
contemptible and poor a thing she considered him ! 

“ Never knew his own mind before, I guess,” was young 
Mrs. Gibbons’s reflection as she re-entered her own room 
and summoned her special confidante, a maid in the 
household, who had been recently introduced by the care- 
ful Mr. Williams and was chiefly occupied in waiting upon 
Miss Henderson. 

“ Mary Anne,” she said, with delightful affability, “ I sup- 
pose by this time it’s all over the house that I’m a mar- 
ried lady ! Well, it’s true enough, and I can tell you my 
husband is one of the handsomest men you ever looked at ; 
just wait till you see him ! I’m very rich now,” pursued 
the girl, more and more elated, “ and I don’t know yet just 
what I will do. You’d better bring me a cup of tea here, 
I guess. My head’s just splitting.” 

Mary Anne brought fresh intelligence with the tea-tray. 

u Mrs. Colestoun and Miss Reade’s down-stairs,” she an- 
nounced. “ Mrs. Colestoun’s got to see you right away.” 

“ See me /” Genevieve sprang to her feet, but no time 
was given her for reflection. Mrs. Colestoun had deemed 
it wiser to follow the maid upstairs, and was already at 
the door. She had determined to know how the land lay 
and to conduct her course accordingly. But Genevieve 
was far too triumphant not to be glad of an audience, and 
when the first moment of surprise passed she received her 


398 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


visitor with a smiling front and most effusive greeting. 
But Mrs. Colestoun’s news startled her. 

“ Bertie ill l” she exclaimed. “ Oh, my goodness ! What 
can I do ? Shall I go right on ?” 

“ There is no choice,” said Mrs. Colestoun, “nor any 
time to delay. It is a business necessity, Genevieve.” 

She glanced towards the maid, whom Genevieve promptly 
dismissed, closing the door sharply and turning to look 
with keenly questioning eyes at Mrs. Colestoun, who went 
on, in a tone of studied calm : 

“ Your husband is ill, and there is a business matter 
you must settle if you would spare yourself trouble. Mr. 
Colestoun will see that you have your expenses, and if you 
put the matter into his hands he will arrange that any 
funds required can be forwarded at once.” 

A dull feeling seemed to settle at Genevieve’s heart. 
She was well aware that only imperative necessity would 
have brought Mrs. Colestoun to the house at such a time. 

“ You may be sure,” continued the visitor, “ my husband 
would not have a hand or a voice in this if he was not 
sure it was vitally important for you to go on at once. You 
need not be alone — ” 

“ Oh yes, I will go alone,” interrupted Genevieve. “ I’ll 
be there in twenty-eight hours. I don’t want anyone 
hanging around.” 

“Very well; you will go, then. Will you come down 
to us ?” 

“ Yes. What did you tell mother?” 

“ Simply that your husband was very low and had sent 
for you.” 

“ I guess I’ll see Constance. I’ll get ready right away. 
It’s awfully queer, but — well— of course Mr. Colestoun’ll 
get his money back.” 

Mrs. Colestoun smiled. 

“ Oh yes. Pack only what you actually need. Shall I 
wait for you? No ? Well, then, Constance will see you 


“LET THERE BE NO DELAY” 


399 


safely down to us, and I will expect you before seven 
o’clock.” 

Constance was well aware, as she entered her step-sister’s 
room, that Genevieve’s anxiety for her husband’s well- 
being was qualified largely by that which she felt for all 
the business matters involved. Still, she could not but 
offer her the sympathy which the situation seemed to de- 
mand ; and, in her own way, Genevieve appreciated it. 

“ Constance,” she said, as the final preparations were 
made and she had returned from a brief interview with 
her mother, “ I declare there’s more in you than I ever 
found out. You don’t bear malice like some . Well, I don’t 
myself, though I can be jealous as a Turk. Well, maybe, 
my dear, some of these days I can be doing you a good 
turn. Who’d ever have thought, that night long ago at 
the theatre, how it was all to turn out! Me to up and 
meet Bert Gibbons again, and that top-lofty Fenton to 
turn out his brother, and you going to live at his cousin’s 
place, and then your Pa, poor man ! to die in our house, 
and all that !” 

But that to accuse or suspect Genevieve of intending to 
wound her at such a time Constance would have found 
all this doubly hard to bear, but she was well aware that 
with Genevieve speech in general was merely an outlet 
for vagrant thoughts which passed too lightly through 
her mind to leave any trace or carry any hidden inten- 
tion. It was as well, perhaps, for all concerned that time 
was pressing, and even Genevieve’s volubility ceased when 
she and her step-sister were at last on their way to the 
Colestouns’ home. The packed and corded trunks, the 
inquiry about trains, etc., the final formalities of adieux 
all around, had emphasized to the girl all that her de- 
parture involved, and even to Droy she had shown more 
courtesy than he had expected or she had ever thought 
should be extended him. Once within Mrs. Colestoun’s 
door Genevieve’s real fatigue of mind and body were ap- 


400 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


parent, and she was very willing to accept a suggestion 
offered of retiring at once. An early start had to be made 
on the morrow, and it was a relief to all when slumber at 
last visited the household. 


CHAPTER XCII. 

LORD GREYBURY’s FIANCE. 

It is well that life holds few such exciting hours or 
events as Constance Reade had passed through of late, 
since, however good the general result of certain up- 
heavals, their tendency is to unhinge one’s minor facul- 
ties and make simple duties seem a task. But Constance 
found infinite relief in a return to the little flower store, 
Clare’s soothing companionship, Hannah’s ministrations, 
and a regular routine of life which involved pleasant toil 
and sufficient recompense. If at times her heart asserted 
itself with a rebellious longing for something beyond all 
this, something she had of herself resigned, yet she strove 
to compose those wild pulsations with a remembrance of 
duty close at hand, and with patience and faith to see the 
end was best in God’s keeping. Genevieve had thoroughly 
aroused her sympathies, which Constance never withheld 
simply because affection or congeniality were wanting, 
and she was eager for news of that enterprising young 
woman’s arrival at Little Purchase, as well as word of 
poor Bertie’s condition. Fenton was with him. Con- 
stance rejoiced in this knowledge, and vaguely hoped he 
would write her soon, also that his step-brother’s marriage 
would not in any way add care to Fenton’s already bur- 
dened life. Larry must be heard from soon. Think of it 
as she might, Constance could not but feel positive that 
there would be something yet to hear of those apparently 


LORD GREYBURTS FIANC& 


401 


unstable mines, the ownership of which still stood in her 
name. What ought to be done, considering the flaw in their 
title ? Constance had written Larry, urging him to investi- 
gate the matter to its fullest extent, and in a shrewd, system- 
atic, but very silent fashion, Mr. Tom Colestoun was doing 
the same thing. Five weeks of outer calm, the tranquillity 
of quiet business life, enlivened by walks and talks out of 
“ shop hours,” occasional chats wflth Mrs. Jervis, who, in 
spite of herself, rather enjoyed her freedom from Rowena’s 
eagle eye, had gone by, when Hannah appeared one morn- 
ing at the back door of the flower store with a letter in her 
hand. It was to Constance, from Helen. 

“Will you come to me at once?” wrote her former em- 
ployer. “ I am at Mr. Cargill’s for the day. Don’t, I beg 
of you, delay an hour. Yours, H. A.” 

Clare was quickly found and quite ready to relieve Con- 
stance, so that in half an hour, and wondering not a little 
as to what the nature of the summons would prove to be, 
our heroine was soon on her way to Mr. Cargill’s. 

She moved about the drawing-room, occupying herself 
in looking at the small articles on a chiffonnier, until the 
door opened and Miss Armitage, with an expression of 
pleasure and cordiality on her lovely face, came into the 
room. Her whole manner gave token of something im- 
portant she was eager to impart, and Constance saw at once 
that whatever it might be, the girl’s intense satisfaction in 
it had effaced all possible bitterness towards herself. 

“My dear girl !” exclaimed the young lady of Fernhills, 
embracing Constance warmly. “ How good of you to come 
at once ! Let me look at you ! You are dreadfully pale 
and thin, my dear! Oh, this will never do!” 

She still held her visitor by both hands, and seated be- 
side her on the sofa, gazed at Constance with sudden pre- 
occupation. 

“ Never mind my looks!” exclaimed Constance, lightly. 

26 


402 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


“ Remember, you have roused all my curiosity. Don’t tor- 
ment me.” 

“Have I?” Helen smiled and blushed, and was as 
usual pleased by the thought of personal importance. 
“ Well, then, try and guess, of all things, what seems to 
you most likely to happen ? 77 

“ Your marriage,” said Constance, with a slight, irrepres- 
sible tremor in her voice, but she smiled brightly. “ I am 
sure — ” she broke off, and Helen laughed and nodded her 
head. 

“My love, you are right! Yes — Constance, I have de- 
cided to end all this vague, half-fettered, half-idle, too in- 
dependent state of mine, and what shall you say when you 
see me a Countess! Yes, my dear! I’ve accepted Grey- 
bury, once and for all. You are — almost — the first to 
know of it. His sister Ursula is over here — of course, we 
had to tell her, and Mr. Shanks, the lawyer — and — to 
write my cousin Fenton. It is all decided upon,” she con- 
tinued, as Constance sat silent, painfully aware that her 
own state of mind was that of a suddenly freed captive, 
yet one who knew not what to do with liberty, “ and I 
am sure no one can blame me. Gray bury is thoroughly 
a gentleman, and to do him credit, I believe he loves me. 
He does not need my fortune, so no one can accuse him 
of mercenary motives; and to you, my dear, I say frankly, 
it is fulfilling the height of my social ambition ! Constance !” 
Helen broke off suddenly and walked over to the window, 
where she turned after a moment’s silence to gaze at her 
companion, with grave intensity deepening in her lovely 
eyes. “ There are no secrets between us, at least none on 
my side — and I do not mind telling you that all thought 
of my cousin John has faded once and forever from my 
mind. There would have always been a barrier between 
us. He has, I am perfectly well aware, ideals I could 
never reach. I should not even care to try. His plan of 
life is totally different from mine. I like amusement, ex- 


LORD GREYBURY 1 S FIANC& 


403 


citement — yes, glitter, if you will. To feel myself on the 
very topmost wave of social success is joy in itself, and 
I should be grateful to the man I married who could grat- 
ify these ambitions. I long to be known and counted as 
a successful social leader; and — listen to me — as such, I 
believe I can do good to many. To live under the calm, 
clear scrutiny of Fenton’s eyes — to know I never possibly 
could fulfil his ideal, would have in the end killed all the 
affection I ever had for him. Greybury looks on life as I 
do. He admires me, I know, and he loves me, too, and 
he is honestly delighted that my fortune is ample enough 
to leave us all the world to choose from, and — he will look 
up to me. We like the same things — gayety and splen- 
dor, and — society at its best. We shall have a town-house 
and three or four country-places, and — ” she smiled a trifle 
wistfully — “ one sacrifice I have had to make, but Fen is 
the gainer. My marriage with a foreigner makes me lose 
Fernhills forever. From my wedding-day it belongs — as 
I suppose it should have all along — to my cousin John.” 

Still, Constance found it impossible to speak, and Miss 
Armitage, too deeply self-engrossed to observe her com- 
panion’s silence, went on : 

“The only thing is this: We are to be married almost 
at once because of some important matters Greybury must 
attend to in Italy, and he will not listen to the idea of a 
long separation, and, indeed, there is no use in it .at all. 
I have only myself to consider, so we have decided to be 
married in Christmas week. Fernhills shall bid me fare- 
well in the most splendid fashion, my dear ! It shall be 
made an occasion all the county shall remember! And 
you — little Miss Dictator — yon shall be my first lady-in- 
waiting.” She ended by flinging her arms about Con- 
stance’s neck, kissing her warmly, and then bursting into 
tears. 

Constance well understood what her friend was feeling. 
Covet the position offered her as she might, revel in the 


404 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


prospects it afforded, there was still the pang of separation 
from old ties and her own home to be endured. And Fen- 
ton ! How would — how had he received all this intelli- 
gence? While Helen’s head still rested on her shoulder, 
Constance w r ondered how it would seem for him once again 
to find himself at Fernhills as his home — indeed his actual 
property ! 

“ There !” exclaimed Lord Greybury’s jianc'e, drying 
her eyes resolutely and smiling once again. “ Those were 
only nervous tears. Now, Constance, I have something to 
ask of you.” She gave her friend’s hand a sudden press- 
ure. “I’m horribly bored here, and will you come and 
stop with me ? I want you to go about shopping with 
me. I intend to take a thoroughly American trousseau 
over, no matter what it costs. I am determined not a bit 
of my splendor except the family jewels are to come from 
the English side, and, my dear, I mean to astonish them. I 
have seen Rollins, but I shall keep half a dozen people 
busy. Your taste is irreproachable . I want you to put all 
your wits to work. It would be an enormous relief if I 
could only reconstruct my future sister-in-law ! My dear, 
her clothes are too horrible to think of! Gowns she well 
may call them, for dresses they could never be ! Still, she is 
very pretty and charming, and Greybury says the clever- 
est of the family. She is bright, but — well — I don’t think 
the other girls can be anything overwhelming if she is the 
smartest. She’s swell, don’t you know — a regular demoiselle 
bien eleve — great on golf, I hear — anyway, you will meet 
her — and how lovely it will be to have your opinion. How 
does it sound — Helen, Countess of Greybury? His uncle 
is the Duke of Middlethorpe.” 

“ When I see you years hence,” declared Constance, 
laughing gayly, “ I shan’t dare come too near you ! I 
shall not know what to say or to do.” 

“ Oh, fiddlesticks ! As if you were likely to make a faux 
pas of any sort. The fact is, you’d make a far better count- 


LARRY PERFORMS HIS MISSION. 


405 


ess than I ever shall; but I don’t believe you’d enjoy it the 
tenth part I shall.’’ 

“I know I shouldn’t. Well, my dear, I think I can 
arrange to come to you, though I can’t be your brides- 
maid. Still, I shall be near at hand.” 

It was with difficulty that Constance finally made her 
adieux, since Helen had only, as she said, “ half begun ” 
to tell her everything connected with her approaching 
marriage and what had led to it, but with a promise to 
return the next morning and arrange to spend several 
hours of each day in her friend’s company ordering and 
devising that entirely American trousseau which was to 
dazzle the Greybury and Middlethorpe connection, Con- 
stance at last took her departure, eager to astonish the 
little household at home with her budget of news. 


CHAPTER XCIII. 

LARRY PERFORMS HIS MISSION. 

The twilight of a November day, which had been fit- 
fully stormy, was closing in with a sunset which promised 
fairly for the morrow, and Mrs. Reade, who had been sit- 
ting alone in her library, stood watching the dusk gather, 
almost shrinking from ringing for lights which could only 
reveal her splendid loneliness and make more glaring the 
objects for which it seemed to her she had sold her peace of 
mind. But it would not do to let the servants think she 
“ knew no better ” than to sit in the dark. Mrs. Reade 
was still nervously apprehensive of her position before 
the august Mr. Mapes, the maid Agnes, or Mrs. Simms 
and her niece, and although a little after the usual hour, 
she touched her bell, and Mapes appeared with his torch- 
light, and at the same time a card on his silver salver. 


406 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


“ The gentleman is in the reception-room, ma’am,” said 
Mr. Mapes, sending a stream of crimson and golden light 
down upon the widow’s black-robed figure and the bit of 
pasteboard in her hand. 

“ Mr. Lawrence Coleman.” 

She read the name aloud, and said, indifferently, “ Let 
him come up here, Mapes,” seating herself in the deep, 
leathern chair, only casually interested in the young man’s 
visit. She associated him with Constance Reade, Con- 
stance, whom she knew, from what she skimmed in the 
daily papers, to be with Miss Armitage, the heiress, whose 
forthcoming marriage to the Earl of Greybury was the 
talk of that social world she had striven so hard to enter. 
The daily routine of the heiress’s life was, after the fashion 
of the day, duly chronicled for an admiring public, and if 
Mrs. Reade sneered at such “ notoriety,” in her heart was 
a passionate protest against her own and her daughter’s 
exclusion from all those hallowed, mysterious delights. 
Her daughter ! Mrs. Reade’s eyes flashed and her lips 
set more firmly together at thought of her. Even the fact 
that Genevieve had been more than two months a widow 
had not softened her feelings in any way. The girl de- 
served richly, so she told herself, the reaping of the whirl- 
wind. She might have been making a marriage equal in 
its social splendor to that all the world of society was dis- 
cussing now. Instead of which — and then the door was 
opened, and Larry Coleman, hat in hand, and looking two 
years older, graver, manlier than when he teazed Con in 
the Amblesworth garden seven months before, came into 
the room. 

Larry, on the way thither, had been going over in his 
mind twenty different ways of imparting to Mrs. Reade 
the important piece of news he had travelled miles to 
bring home to those it concerned, but at sight of the tall, 
stoutly-composed woman, in her rich but absolutely som- 
bre widow’s garb, all formulas deserted him. The fixed 


LARRY PERFORMS HIS MISSION. 


407 


coldness of her glance ; the air of armed neutrality, so to 
speak, which dominated her manner, changed his desire 
to “ break.” any intelligence by adroitly governed sen- 
tences. He took the seat Mrs. Reade, with a careless gest- 
ure, indicated, and said simply : 

“ I called, Mrs. Reade, to say that I have been attend- 
ing to Miss Reade’s interests in Belchatel and Little Pur- 
chase — chiefly the Nepomonset, you know; we want a 
form of release to one part of the claim. It is all perfectly 
regular. By not selling the mines Miss Reade did an un- 
expected stroke of business for herself. I saw Mr. Blount 
to-day. He and Mr. Colestoun have a syndicate waiting. 
The mines are worth — her share, after all will be said and 
done — about two hundred thousand. She will probably 
sell out at once. It is a good offer.” 

He was giving her time ; time to recover the first shock 
of half-stupefaction into which this piece of intelligence 
had thrown her mind ! The Nepomonset ! The mines 
she had disdained to u touch !” All now swept away out 
of her power completely, and Constance Reade, who had 
prevented their sale when she thought it dishonest, to be 
reaping the benefit ! Mrs. Reade’s very soul seemed sick 
within her, but she did not move her eyes from her visit- 
or’s face, nor betray what was going on within her, save 
by a change of color and a slight, nervous twitching of 
her lips, as Larry was not slow to observe. He went on, 
rather more hurriedly : “ The release I mentioned will save 
— ahem ! — some trouble. Mr. Blount can explain it all ; 
and so will Mrs. Gibbons. It appears Mr. Gibbons was 
foolishly induced to sell some of the securities. Mrs. 
Gibbons prefers asking you to sign over your possible 
claim for a certain consideration, and thereby avoid all 
painful publicity. Mr. Blount will advise you, however, 
in this matter. There is another question — Mrs. Gibbons 
has returned with me. She — is—well, down stairs at the 
present moment, Mrs. Reade, with Constance, who has 


408 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL . 


shown herself a true friend, and — Constance has one con- 
dition to make. She will take no steps in this Nepomon- 
set matter to annoy or trouble you — will see that it is all 
ended — a closed page in a forgotten book — and pay down 
ten thousand dollars, twice what the surest claim would be 
worth, in return for your receiving Mrs. Gibbons — taking 
her into your home again !” 

He said only home , yet something — a vague quiver 
from some forgotten or unknown depth in the woman's 
heart — stirred and seemed to warm the nearly frozen blood 
in her veins ! Mrs. Reade rose to her feet and said, in a 
voice which trembled slightly : 

u Gen — is here— did you say ?” 

“ Shall I bring her up to you, Mrs. Reade?” inquired 
Larry with his most winning smile, and assuming her si- 
lence to be acquiescence, the messenger of peace and fate 
made all haste from the room towards that in which Con- 
stance and her step-sister were seated. 

Grief — and so far as her nature would allow, Genevieve 
had grieved for Bertie — had by no means dimmed the eye 
nor chilled the vivacity of Mrs. Bertie Gibbons, who rose 
on Larry’s entrance, u ready,” as he would put it, “ for the 
fray,” not in the least afraid of meeting her mother, al- 
though keenly aware that a reconciliation and reunion 
were the best possible solution of her present difficulties — 
which consisted chiefly in too isolated a social position — 
especially where there was always a fear that her late hus- 
band’s shortcomings might be known, as well as one or 
two not very agreeable antecedents of the late Mr. Samuel 
Henderson, which her recent trip West had brought to 
light. Genevieve had not the smallest intention of living 
long in seclusion. She intended, when her period of 
mourning expired, to be a very prominent person socially, 
and there was nothing on her conscience, as “ they all ” — • 
meaning John Fenton, Lawrence Coleman, the Colestouns 
and Constance herself— knew it was her help which 


LARRY PERFORMS HIS MISSION. 


409 


had aided Larry to set the Nepomonset matter straight. 
She and Fenton, between them, had put the affair on its 
proper footing, and if it had involved confession of poor 
Bertie’s weakness, he to the last had professed his sorrow 
and maintained — what they all believed — that the slight 
part he had in it w r hen the flaw was “ trumped up ” to effect 
a better sale was in ignorance of this double-dealing. He 
had only tried to make the mines appear, in a general way, 
undesirable, in order that the purchase might be on better 
terms. Be that as it may, John Fenton had scarcely al- 
lowed himself time to eat or sleep until he had investi- 
gated the matter thoroughly, with Larry’s help made 
Constance’s claim clear, and now, as a result, Mrs. Reade 
had but to accept the generous terms offered and the 
whole affair would be forgotten, save in its present aspect. 

Genevieve realized her own importance ; ranked the 
value of her opinions too highly to be in any way afraid 
of this meeting with her mother. She felt herself on the 
threshold of a general success all around. Constance 
would not desert her. That most delightful Mr. Coleman 
had been all that a gentleman should or ought to be on a 
homeward journey, which, to a woman of different calibre, 
must have been painful in the extreme; and even “ that 
Fenton,” whose “ top-loftiness ” had once been subject of 
annoyance or pique, could not but admit she had behaved 
thoroughly well in the whole matter. 

Larry, pausing at the library-door, said to Genevieve, 
“ I will leave you alone,” and the girl acquiesced. Much 
as she would have liked to impress her mother with the 
valuable ally she had secured, it was better, no doubt, that 
the interview should take place without witnesses. The 
door closed on the mother and daughter. Larry rejoined 
Constance, who was standing in the window of the great, 
deserted-looking drawing-room, idly watching the passers- 
by, her thoughts wandering to those she cared for. 

How valuable the life Clare had chosen, and that, for 


410 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


instance, of Norman Browning at Garvery ; of Fenton, who 
had been, she thanked God, all in all to her before Fern- 
hills had come back to him or her own fortune was as- 
sured. Larry, brave, self-reliant, honorable in every fibre ; 
young Ferguson, who had been, it appeared, his friend 
out West, and who would soon claim little Kate Brumage 
as his life’s partner; even Rowena Trapmen, who had, it 
seemed, under her husband’s better-regulated guidance, 
developed a very peaceful kind of activity, and poor 
“Tom” Colestoun — these associates in the past year had 
all, by their integrity and simple purpose, risen to a height 
which money could not dominate. Even at Fernhills, in 
spite of much that was contrary to our heroine’s finer sen- 
sibilities, she could not but feel Miss Armitage would, in 
her new life, realize her highest form of happiness — 
blessedness . Constance paused, with a quickening meas- 
ure of her heart. Ah ! therein lay the subtle but all- 
governing difference. A month hence what changes would 
have occurred ! The heiress married and away — “ Mose- 
ley’s ” — a reconstructed, remodelled, altogether new Mose- 
ley’s since the Trapmens had purchased it for a “ working- 
people’s home ” — would be in Gelston, the centre of fine 
and mutually useful activity. Garvery was to have a new 
lease of life, since now, it seemed beyond a doubt, that 
Norman Browning’s very persistent though quiet wooing 
of Clare would meet with its reward. And for herself? 
One dream had Constance among shadowy, half-formed 
fancies. Surely, now that her claim was justified, who 
could prevent her bringing together under the old roof 
the Amblesworth family, who had been her first, were now 
her dearest friends ? 


“FROM OUT OF THE WEST, 


411 


CHAPTER XCIV. 

“from out of the west.” 

John Fenton, turning the corner of Beckton Lane in 
the twilight of a December afternoon, made his way to- 
wards the building so long known as “ Moseley’s,” now, 
however, in process of complete reorganization for the use 
of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Trapmen, Jr., and, as a delicate 
compliment to the bride of the hour, christened “ The 
Armitage .” 

Fenton had only arrived in New York that morning. 
The message he had wired to Constance lay unopened on 
the table in the Fernhills library, but Helen, who received 
him with all the graciousness which marked her manner 
since her betrothal, explained the reason. 

“You will find her at Moseley’s,” she said. “She is 
busy making it all bright for to-morrow — the day, Fen. 
It is, you know, to be the model home of homes for the 
Gelston workman and his family, and as such it will wear 
my colors for the day. Go at once ; then I shall claim — 
for the last time, Cousin Fen — one hour of your time.” 

“Two — three, if you like!” exclaimed Fenton, with the 
look of irrepressible joyousness in his eyes Helen well 
knew no mere thought of her ever had — ever could 
call up ! 

He would surprise Constance ! Fenton’s lips curved in 
a quiet smile as he pictured her face — the darkly-fringed 
eyes— the fair young cheek — brightening, he dared hope, 
at his coming ! How was he to curb his feeling of irre- 
pressible freedom and delight, how keep back the words 
he had travelled all across the Continent to say, if he did 
not find her alone? And then the lights of the old house 


412 


A GIRL'S ORDEAL. 


on the river bank came, in view. The curtains on the 
lower windows had not been drawn. Fenton paused an 
instant to look in, and saw to his delight that Constance 
was alone. A moment later he was with her, and, like a 
pair of happy children released from bondage, their hands 
met in a firm, silent clasp. 


CHAPTER XCV. 

CONCLUSION. 

“Yes,” declared Mrs. Penwick the next afternoon, as 
she turned from the window, where, with a group of 
others, she had watched the carriage drive away with the 
newly-made Countess of Greybury and her husband, 
“ our dear Helen is a fitting representative of her country, 
and, though we shall miss her, we will be consoled by the 
thought she is doing her part abroad as a well-born, cul- 
tured American woman.” 

“ Exactly,” assented Mrs. Bruce Greer ; “ and how 
charmingly it all went off! How aptly Lord Greybury 
toasted the new master of Fernhills! And if what a 
little bird says is correct, the place will not be long with- 
out a mistress.” 

“ So I understand.” Mrs. Penwick drew a deep breath, 
but committed herself no further. It would hardly do to 
disparage any choice such a remarkably clever person as 
the master of Garvery might have made, yet Constance 
was still a thorn in her side. 

“ I hear she is remarkably charitable,” said the elder 
Miss Farnsworth. 

“ Oh I merely faddish ,” pronounced Mrs. Penwick. 
“ Still, we can but hope for the best. And she has money 
of her own, it appears.” 


CONCLUSION. 


413 


“ A little two hundred thousand,” said Izzy, demurely. 
“ Are you going to the feast at the Armitage to-night, Mrs. 
Greer? Isn’t it quite poetic and ideal to think of Helen’s 
leaving a sum for its perpetual maintenance— a nice link 
with her c ain countree.’ There are to be no reserved seats, 
hut Mrs. Coleman promises me the best view going.” 

“I am rather tired,” observed Mrs. Bruce Greer a trifle 
loftily. “Still, I will be guided by what the others do.” 

Across the hall, in the library, a very different group 
were discussing the day’s events in a different fashion. 

“ We must make the feast at the ‘ Armitage 1 happy for 
every one,” Constance was observing to Clare; “ and Clare, 
my dear, how soon do you suppose Larry can settle down 
to work in Amblesworth ? The tenants are ready to leave 
at once.” 

“ Oh, Larry is ready enough, and so are we. Here are 
Norman and Mr. Fenton. Did you remember, Con, my 
dear, that from twelve o’clock to-day we are Mr. Fenton’s 
guests ?” 

“ As you will be many times, I hope, in the future,” 
that gentleman said, catching the words as he drew near. 
“ What do you say, Miss Reade?” 

“ I? I can fancy no home that has not an open door.” 

A little later Fenton had a chance for a word alone with 
her, and showed her something which he had carried 
about a long time, waiting for this day to come. 

It was the little ring with the stone, which, as she had 
said long ago, looked “ like an imprisoned bit of one’s 
very heart.” While they stood in the drawing-room 
window he slipped it on the girl’s hand, saying, in his 
quiet, deep tones : 

“ A pledge, Constance, of the new life we are to begin 
for ourselves — and others! Fernhills at last has come to 
its own again/’ 


THE END. 



The 

Famous 

Castlemon 

Books. 

BY 

Harry 

CASTLEMON:. 



Specimen Cover of the Gunboat 
SerieSi 


No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys than 
“Harry Castlemon; " every book by him is sure to meet with hearty re- 
ception by young readers generally. H.s naturalness and vivacity lead his 
readers irom page to page with breathless interest, and when one volume is 
finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks “ for more/' 

***Any volume sold separately. 


GUNBOAT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 6 
vols., i 2 mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 


in colors. In box • $7 5° 

Frank, the Young Naturalist i 25 

Frank in the Woods x 25 

Frank on the Prairie, x 25 

Frank on a Gunboat . ^ . 1 25 

Frank before Vicksburg * . . 1 25 

Frank on the Lower Mississippi 2 25 



2 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


GO AHEAD SERIES. By Harry Castiemon. 3 
vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colqrs. In bo* , . . . . ^ . $3 75 

Go Ahead ; 6r, The Fisher Boy’s Motto ...... 1 25 

No Moss ; or. The Career of a Rolling Stone ... * I 25 

Torn Newcombe ; or. The Boy of Bead Habits . . 1 25 

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. By Harry 
^ Castiemon. 3 vols,, i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 

* extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 

Prank at Don Carlos’ Rancho 1 25 

Prank among the Rancheros 1 25 

Prank in the Mountains 1 25 

SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES. By Harry 
Castiemon. 3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 
extra, printed In colors. Inbox $3 75 

The Sportsman’s Club in the Saddle .... 1 25 

The Sportsman’s Club Afloat 1 25 

The Sportsman’s Club among the Trappers . 1 25 

PRANK NELSON SERIES. By Harry Castie- 
mon. 3 vols. i2mo. Fully illustrated! Cloth, extra, 
printed in colors. In box $3 75 

Snowed Up ; or, The Sportsman’s Club in the Mts. . 1 25 

Frank Nelson in the Forecastle; or, The Sports- 
man’s Club among the Whalers 1 25 

The Boy Traders ; or, The Sportsman’s Club among 
the Boers I 25 

BOY TRAPPER SERIES. By Harry Castiemon. 

3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $3 75 

The Buried Treasure ; or, Old Jordan’s “ Haunt 1 25 

The Boy Trapper; or, How Dave Filled the Order. 1 25 

The Mail Carrier . . ^ 1 2 $ 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 3 

ROUGHING IT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 

3 vois., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box ^3 75 

George in Camp ; or, Life on the Plains ..... I 25 

George at the Wheel ; or, Life in a Pilot House . 1 25 

George at the Fort ; or, Life Among the Soldiers . 1 25 

ROD AND GUN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 

3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box . #3 75 

Don Gordon’s Shooting Box 1 25 

Rod and Gun 1 25 

The Young Wild Fowlers 1 25 

FOREST AND STREAM SERIES. By Harry 
Castlemon. 3 vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 
extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 

Joe Wayring at Home ; or, Story of a Fly Rod . 1 25 

Snagged and Sunk ; or, The Adventures of a Can- 
vas Canoe I 25 

Steel Horse ; or. The Rambles of a Bicycle .... 1 25 

WAR SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 4 vols., 
i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in 
colors. In box 5 00 

True to his Colors 1 25 

Rodney, the Partisan 1 25 

Marcy, the Blockade Runner 1 25 

Marcy, the Refugee 1 25 

OUR FELLOWS; or, Skirmishes with the Swamp 
Dragoons. By Harry Castlemon. i6mo. Fully illus- 
trated. Cloth, extra I 25 


Ai.ger’s 

Renowned 

Books. 

BY 

Horatio 
Alger, Jr. 



Specimen Cover of the Ragged 
Dick Series. 


Horatio Alger, Jr., has attain'd distinction as one of the most popular 
writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises ail of his best 
books. 

*** Any volume sold separately. 


RAGGED DICK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, 


Jr. 6 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, 
printed in colors. In box $7 50 

Ragged Dick ; or, Street Life in New York .... 1 25 

Fame and Fortune ; or, The Progress of Richard 

Hunter 125 

Mark, the Match Boy ; or, Richard Hunter’s Ward I 25 

Rough and Ready ; or, Life among the New York 

Newsboys 125 

Ben, the Luggage Boy ; or, Among the Wharves . 1 25 

Rufus and Rose ; or, the Fortunes of Rough and 

Ready 125 

TATTERED TOM SERIES. (First Series.) 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., i2mo. Fully illus- 
trated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box ... 5 00 

(4) 


HENRY T. COATES &, CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 5 

Tattered Tom ; or, The Story of a Street Arab . . I 25 

Paul, the Peddler; or, The Adventures of a Young 
Street Merchant 1 25 

Phil, the Fiddler ; or, The Young Street Musician . 1 25 

Slow and Sure ; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop 1 25 

TATTERED TOM SERIES. (Second Series.) 

4 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $$ 00 

J ulius ; or the Street Boy Out West I 25 

The Young Outlaw; or, Adrift in the World ... 1 25 

Sam’s Chance and How He Improved it . . . 1 25 

The Telegraph Boy 1 25 

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (First Series.) 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., i2mo. Fully illus- 
trated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box ... $5 00 

Luck and Pluck ; or John Oakley’s Inheritance . . 1 25 

Sink or Swim ; or, Harry Raymond’s Resolve ... I 25 

Strong and Steady ; or, Paddle Your Own Canoe . 1 25 

Strive and Succeed ; or, The Progress of Walter 
Conrad I 25 

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (Second 
Series.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols., i2mo. 

Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In 
box ^5 00 

Try and Trust ; or, The Story of a Bound Boy ... 1 25 

Bound to Rise ; or Harry Walton’s Motto 1 25 

Risen from the Ranks ; or, Harry Walton’s Success 1 25 
Herbert Carter’s Legacy ; or, The Inventor’s Son . 1 25 

CAMPAIGN SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 
vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $3 75 

Frank’s Campaign ; or, The Farm and the Camp . 1 25 

Paul Prescott’s Charge 1 25 

Charlie Codman’s Cruise 1 25 


6 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By Horatio 
Alger, Jr. 4 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, ^ 
extra, printed in colors. In box ^5 00 

Brave and Bold ; or, The Story of a Factory Boy . . I 25 

Jack’s Ward; or, The Boy Guardian 1 25 

Shifting for Himself; or, Gilbert Greyson’s For- 
tunes I 25 

Wait and Hope ; or, Ben Bradford’s Motto .... I 25 

PACIFIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 
vols. i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $5 oo 

The Young Adventurer; or, Tom’s Trip Across 

the Plains * . 1 25 

The Young Miner; or, Tom Nelson in California . I 25 

The Young Explorer ; or, Among the Sierras . . I 25 

Ben’s Nugget; or, A Boy’s Search for Fortune. A 

Story of the Pacific Coast X25 

ATLANTIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 
vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box #5 00 

The Young Circus Rider; or, The Mystery of 

Robert Rudd I 2$ 

Do and Dare ; or, A Brave Boy’s Fight for Fortune . I 25 

Hector’s Inheritance ; or, Boys of Smith Institute . I 25 

Helping Himself ; or, Grant Thornton’s Ambition . 1 25 

WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES. By Horatio 
Alger, Jr. 4 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 


extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00 

Bob Burton 1 25 

The Store Boy . . . . x 25 

Luke Walton , . 1 25 

Struggling Upward I 25 


New Book by Alger. 

DIGGING FOR GOLD. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Illustrated 1 2 mo. Cloth, black, red and gold ... I 25 


A 

New Series 
of Books. 


Indian Life 
and 

Character 
Founded on 
Historical 
Facts. 



Specimen Cover o! the Wyoming 
Series. 


By Edward S. Ellis. 


Any volume sold separately. 


BOY PIONEER SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 

3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 

in colors. In box $3 75 

Ned in the Block House ; or, Life on the Frontier, i 25 
Ned in the Woods. A Tale of the Early Days in 

the West I 25 

Ned on the River 1 25 

DEERFOOT SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. In 
box containing the following. 3 vols., i2mo. Illus- 
trated • • ... $3 75 

Hunters of the Ozark 1 25 

Camp in the Mountains 1 25 

The Last War Trail I 25 

LOG CABIN SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 

3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box . $3 7$ 


(7) 


8 


HENRY T. COATES & CO.’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


Lost Trail 

Camp-Fire and Wigwam 

Footprints in the Forest 

WYOMING SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 3 
vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 

in colors. In box 

Wyoming 

Storm Mountain 


ti 

1 

1 


#3 

1 

1 


Cabin in the Clearing 


1 


25 

25 

25 


75 

25 

25 

25 


New Books by Edward S. Ellis. 


Through Forest and Fire. i2mo. Cloth ... 1 25 

On the Trail of the Moose. i2mo. Cloth . . 1 25 

By C. A. Stephens. 


Rare books for boys — bright, breezy, wholesome and instructive ; full of 
adventure and incident, and informati n upon natural history. They Idend 
instruction with amusement — contain much useful and valuable information 


upon the habits of animals, and plenty of adventure, fun and jollity. 

CAMPING OUT SERIES. By C. A. Stephens. 

6 vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 

in colors. In box $7 50 

Camping Out. As recorded by “ Kit ” 1 25 

Left on Labrador; or The Cruise of the Schooner 
Yacht “ Curfew.’ 1 As recorded by “ Wash ” .... I 25 
Off to the Geysers ; or. The Young Yachters in Ice- 
land. As recorded by il Wade ’ I 25 

Lynx Hunting. From Notes by the author of 

“ Camping Out ” I 25 

Fox Hunting. As recorded by “ Raed ” 12$ 

On the Amazon; or, The Cruise of the " Rambler/’ 

As recorded by “ Wash ” I 25 


By J. T. Trowbridge. 

These stories will rank among the best of Mr. Trowbridge’s books for the 
young — and he has written some of the best of our juvenile 1 terature. 

JACK HAZARD SERIES. By J. T. Trowbridge. 

6 vols., i2mo. Fully Illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $7 50 




































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